A Most Delightful Evening
by Mosteyn
Summary: Set in Downton in 1925. Lady Rose has persuaded Cora to host a ball as a benefit for the cottage hospital. But the evening doesn't quite go to plan... (A/U:Matthew and Sybil are still with us !). Finally Complete !
1. Chapter 1

"Do we really have to go ?" frowned Tom as his wife helped their eldest daughter out of the bath.

"It's in aid of the cottage hospital," explained Sybil, reaching down to pull their youngest out of the water and onto the towel on her lap. "And there a rather a lot of Rose's friends coming up from London. I think Mama feels she needs all the chaperones she can muster. "

Tom enveloped his oldest in a towel and watched as she wrapped it around herself and hopped gleefully from foot to foot.

"She wants you as a chaperone ? Because you're an old married lady ?" he teased.

"She wants us _both_ as chaperones."

"Where are you going ?" Niamh interrupted.

"Granny has asked us to a party at Downton, sweetheart," he said.

"A party !"

"For grown-ups" added her mother, giving her a significant look.

"Ohhhh" she whined dramatically.

"It won't be any fun," said her father, "its probably not going to be very exciting."

"Will you play games ?"

"No, love, its not that sort of a party."

"What will you do, then ?" she asked curiously

"We'll stand around in our best clothes and talk to a lot of very boring people" he said firmly

"Oh. Will you have trifle ?"

Sybil couldn't help but laugh.

"There might be trifle. But if there is, I am sure Mrs Patmore will save some for you and Aoife."

"You won't be missing anything" her father assured her.

"So you'll go then ?" asked Sybil,

Tom rolled his eyes.

"I suppose so - if there's Mrs Patmore's trifle..."

* * *

Cora was starting to regret letting Rose talk her into organising this benefit. Her parents were supposed to have arrived back from India two days ago, but bad weather had delayed their voyage and they were now not scheduled to arrive back in the country until next week. Despite Cora's careful tutelage and care, Rose was still a little too _fast _for the Countess' liking. She sighed as she watched her downstairs, flitting about excitedly, directing the staff as to the placement of decorations for the night's entertainment. She especially wished she'd not let Rose persuade her into opening up the ballroom - a room that had not been used since Edith's abortive wedding five years ago. On the one hand, Cora found her excitement charming - but when she thought of the same giddiness transplanted to a ballroom full of eager young men, it became more troublesome.

She was glad she had roped all three of her daughters into being present, two of them with their husbands. She had invited a number of their acquaintance from the County, but she felt that Sybil, Edith and Mary would be far more effective chaperones than Robert's rather stuffy middle aged friends. Rose had been allowed to invite a number of her own friends, which meant invitations had been extended to a number of young men whose parents Cora didn't know and whose character she was in the dark about. It was too late now, she sighed. She would be relying on Mary's hauteur, Edith's knowledge of the London set and Sybil's worldliness to help her keep things in check. Edith was coming up from London alone - her father would not be happy about her presence, but after nearly losing Sybil in childbirth five years ago, Cora was adamant that each of their daughters would always be welcome at Downton, whatever they did in life. She was not ready to lose any of her children. Thinking of Sybil, she smiled. Somewhere between Edith's shocking lifestyle in town and Matthew and Mary's daily bickering, Robert now regarded the daughter who had run off to Ireland with the chauffeur as the sensible, practical one. He was even beginning to forget Tom had once been employed to drive him about, being more concerned these days with berating his son-in-law's latest article. Although why Robert even insisted on taking The Manchester Guardian, Cora had no idea.

With Sybil in mind, she made her way to the nursery. The Bransons had arrived shortly before lunch - the children allowed in the drawing room whilst their parents had tea with the family and then whisked up to the nursery for lunch with their cousins. Cora wanted to visit her granddaughters before the inevitable fight broke out between Niamh and George. After that happened, one or other of them would be sulking or in tears for the rest of the day and the atmosphere in the nursery would suffer.

She found Sybil with her children, explaining to Nanny the progress they had both made since their last visit in talking and reading. Peter and Aoife were already happily engaged in a game of sorts, Peter intent on explaining his latest toy, whilst Aoife looked at him in awe. George was flicking though a picture book, doing his best to ignore Niamh, who was dancing round her mother, trying to distract her.

"Granny !" Niamh ran to her and she picked her up, swinging her on to her hip.

"My, Niamh, you've grown ! What a big girl you're becoming !"

"I go to school now"

"I know you do, darling. But don't you miss your Mama, being away all day ?"

"No" said Niamh, quite matter of factly. "There are lots of books" she continued enthusiastically "and all the little girls and boys sit at tables and Mrs Fletcher tells us stories. And we do drawings."

"She loves it," Sybil smiled. "We're lucky if we get a kiss goodbye in the morning now."

"She still seems so small to be away from home all day."

"They take them at four, Mama, so she's not any younger than any of the other children there. And anyway, won't Mary and Matthew be sending George to school in September ?"

"He'll have a tutor until he goes to school. Both the boys are down for Eton."

"Eton ? But Papa went to Harrow...is that where Matthew went ?"

"Matthew went to Rugby, but he didn't like it so he doesn't want to send his sons there. And Eton is handy for when they will be in town."

"Harrow's even nearer…." said Sybil sceptically.

Cora sighed.

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps they just want to be different from your Papa…"

Sybil turned to George, still engrossed in his picture book.

"Are you looking forward to having a tutor, George ?

He nodded, bringing his legs up even further in front of him and disappearing behind the book.

"He's just not used to sharing the nursery," said Nanny.

Sybil raised her eyebrows at her mother.

"I would have thought that sending him the village school would have been a good idea," she continued thoughtfully, "seeing as those children are the future of the estate. Surely it would be a good way to get to know his future tenants ?"

"I think Matthew wanted to, but George doesn't want to go and Mary won't force him."

"Why don't you want to go to school, George ?" Sybil turned back to the child, "Niamh goes and she loves it, don't you, darling ?"

Niamh nodded enthusiastically. George scowled at her before shaking his head, slowly.

Sybil gave up, turning back to her mother.

"Well, I think we're done here. Go and help Nanny put your things away, darling." They watched her elder daughter obligingly do as she was told. "What can I do to help for tonight ?"

Cora rolled her eyes.

"Just keep an eye on Rose and her friends. They'll start to arrive shortly. I hope Edith can tell me who they are because I really don't know half of them."

"When is Edith getting here ? I feel I haven't seen her for months !"

"Pratt's meeting her on the four o'clock train."

Sybil smiled at the thought of seeing her sister again. Since Edith moved to London several years ago, their busy lives meant they did not see each other as often as they would like.

"I'll go and see what Rose is up to, then."

She moved to the door when her mother's voice stopped her.

"Oh - Sybil - there is one thing I need to tell you," Cora began anxiously. "Now, please don't be cross…." Sybil stopped smiling and looked at her mother with some trepidation.

"Larry Grey is coming tonight."

"Oh Mama ! After what he did to Tom before Mary's wedding ? How could you possibly allow him back here ?"

"I'm sorry darling - but it was Rose. He's part of her set in London. Of course I wouldn't have him here, but she only told me he was coming this morning. She's been a little…..free with some of her invitations," said Cora bitterly.

Sybil frowned in annoyance.

"I'd better find Tom and tell him. He won't be very pleased…."

"Your father isn't very pleased either. But we'll just have to manage things so that their isn't a scene."

"Oh, so I'll just tell Tom not to drink anything, then we'll be fine."

"Please, Sybil. What's done is done. And it was a long time ago so hopefully he won't try anything silly like that again."

Cora watched contritely as her daughter shook her head in disbelief.

"But how on earth does Rose even know Larry ? I would have thought he's far too old for her set of friends !"

"Apparently he owns a nightclub in London. Edith says he knows a lot of young people."

Sybil gave a very unladylike snort.

"That doesn't surprise me," she said, "it seems just the sort of shady thing he would be involved with. What does Lord Merton think ?"

"I don't think Giles is very happy about it, to be honest,"

"I can believe it." She reached out to open the nursery door. "Well, it looks like tonight is going to be an interesting evening, doesn't it ?"

* * *

_Next up: The evening gets underway..._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **The plot thickens...

* * *

Tom sat down on the bed with a thump.

"What ?" he asked incredulously.

"I know," said his wife, looking at him in her mirror, "I couldn't believe it either. But apparently Rose asked him, not Mama."

"Can't they just tell him he's not welcome ?"

"It's rather too late for that," she said apologetically.

"That's all I need," he muttered under his breath.

She turned round to face him, pulling her dressing gown tight at the waist as she did.

"Larry won't try anything again, Tom. He wouldn't dare."

His head shot up irritably.

"How do you know that ?" he snapped. "Why wouldn't he ? He's got an even bigger audience this time !"

"Tom….."

"Why else would he come back ?"

She closed her eyes in frustration.

"Because he knows Rose and her friends ! Why assume its about us ? He's probably forgotten all about it."

"Well, I haven't," he said bitterly.

She watched him as he sat on the bed, staring at the wall. It was easy for her to see he was reliving that evening, when his passion had been fuelled by whatever Larry had put in his drink and he had shouted down Lord Grantham's dinner guests as if they were in a Dublin pub. But Sybil was wrong. He'd been embarrassed about his behaviour at the dinner, certainly, but it was a caustic memory of Sybil having to help him into his pyjama trousers and into bed that made him hate the thought of meeting Larry again.

"Hadn't you better finish getting changed ?" she prompted, trying to change the subject.

Tom nodded miserably and padded around the bedroom, putting on his dress shirt and trousers. He was so absorbed with fiddling with his shirt studs that he paid no attention to his wife getting changed. Consequently, when he looked up to ask for her help with his cufflinks, his jaw dropped several inches.

She was wearing a blue and sliver sleeveless dress that just skimmed her knees, but what really took Tom's breath away was the expanse of naked back he was looking at. The dress was cut a little above her waist, with a chiffon scarf gracefully looped between the shoulders. Her bobbed hair had been neatly waved and a cluster of diamonds he recognised as borrowed from Mary sparkled in her hair. She looked stunning. He blinked at her stupidly, enthralled.

"Do you like it ?" she asked, smiling.

His first coherent thought was to wonder how it stayed put on her shoulders. His second was to register that she couldn't be wearing her corset.

"Isn't that rather…. daring for your parents ?"

"Darling, its 1925. This is quite tame to what some of them will be wearing tonight, if what Edith says is true."

Tom raised an eyebrow as she moved to take his cufflinks from him.

"Why, Mr Branson, don't you approve ?"

"That wouldn't stop you wearing it, would it ?'

"No," she said, smiling as she threaded a link through the cuff of his shirt.

He returned her smile and kissed her forehead.

"You look beautiful."

She looked up at him, her dark blue eyes dancing with a mirth and good humour that showed that his approval pleased her none the less.

"Thank you."

She pinked his cuffs and straightened out his tie, little acts of wifely attention that still made her fizz with pleasure.

"Hurry up," she chided as he pulled on his dinner jacket, "I promised the girls we'd say goodnight before we went down."

* * *

Their two girls were already tucked up in one of the nursery bedrooms. Niamh and George had fallen out as usual; this time it was Niamh's turn to be in Nanny's good graces, so she was beaming with self-righteousness when her parents found her sitting up in bed with a book. Aoife was in a cot, much to her chagrin. She was standing up, grasping the bars and grumbling to her sister when Sybil gently pushed the door open.

"But there isn't another bed, Aoife, and I'm too big for the cot"

"Aoife _big_ girl," she whined, on the very verge of tears

"Hello, darlings"

Niamh's mouth dropped open.

"Mama, you look _beautiful_ !"

Sybil smiled and kissed her on the forehead.

"She does, doesn't she ?" said Tom, wandering over to Aoife in the cot. "What's the matter, love ?" he asked her when he saw her face.

"She doesn't want to be in a cot like a baby," explained Niamh.

"Big girl," sulked her sister.

"Ah, come here, sweetheart," he said as he swung her up into his arms. "It's only for tonight. We're going home tomorrow, then you'll be back in your own bed."

Satisfied with snaring her father's attention, Aoife turned hers to her mother.

"Mama princess !" she said in awe, pointing to Sybil.

Tom grinned.

"That she is," he said

Sybil came over to take Aoife from him, rolling her eyes as she did so.

"Don't be silly," she chided gently, but smiled anyway.

"You do look like a princess, Mama !"

"Alright, alright…..look, you're both getting over-excited and you won't be able to go to sleep at this rate," she warned, placing Aoife back in the cot.

"Who's a princess ?" asked Mary as she came in the bedroom, closely followed by Matthew.

"Mama !" cried Aiofe, pointing at Sybil.

"Really ? When did that happen ?" she said with amusement.

"Aunt Mary, will you read me a story ?" Niamh was now out of her blankets and kneeling up on the bed. Sybil looked crossly at her.

"You've already had a story, Niamh. Now back into bed. It's time to go to sleep."

"Can Uncle Matthew…"

"Uncle Matthew is busy…" Sybil turned to her sister apologetically. "I'm sorry, all the excitement has unsettled them both."

"Nanny's had the same problem with George and Peter," said Matthew sympathetically.

"Can't I come and see the party ?'

"No, darling, you can't. It's not for little girls."

"But….."

"Do as your mother says, Niamh," warned her father.

She reluctantly got back under the bedclothes and let her mother tuck her in.

"Will you tell us about it tomorrow, Mama ?"

"Yes, of course, if you want us too. Now go to sleep."

* * *

By the time the four adults had managed to say goodnight and shut the door, the salon downstairs was starting to fill up with guests as they arrived and were greeted by her parents. Sybil recognised some of their friends, also a number of younger men and women she had grown up with, and a great many young people she had never seen before. It seemed noisier than she remembered these functions being, Rose's friends hailing each other from across the room and laughing as they exchanged greetings. Edith had been right. Sybil's dress did not look at all out of place.

As more people arrived, guests began to spill from the salon to the ballroom, where a buffet supper had been laid out at one end of the room and the band had set up at the other. Cora's suggestion of the local band from Ripon had been vetoed passionately by Rose, in favour of a jazz band from London. The band members were obviously known to a number of the young people as they shook hands and milled around where the band was set up. Sybil had never heard of them.

"Do you know them ?" she asked Edith who had appeared beside her in a smart gown that Sybil had never seen before.

"I know _of_ them," she said, breathing in a little sharply. "They play at Larry's club. They're very popular, I believe."

Sybil glanced at her sister, a little perturbed. She had the definite feeling that there was something that Edith wasn't saying.

"What is it ?" she asked.

"I'm just surprised Mama booked them. And I'm rather surprised they are here. They usually don't play outside of London."

"Why ?"

"The County doesn't usually appreciate their sort of music. Or the colour of their skin..."

Sybil's mouth formed a silent "Oh" and she looked apprehensively to where Rose was chatting with a ridiculously handsome man with a sheaf of sheet music in his hand. "Is Papa going to disapprove ?" she asked.

"I think Papa disapproved the moment they arrived," replied her sister. "At least it meant he forgot to disapprove of me."

Sybil involuntarily rested her gloved hand on Edith's arm.

"I'm sure Papa is glad you're here, Edith. And you know what he is like - he won't be able to keep it up. It will get easier."

"It's been three years, Sybil…..I think having a daughter living with a married man is just a step too far for Papa."

"He thought that about a daughter who married a chauffeur once."

Edith sighed and smiled wryly.

"I'm not sure its quite the same….although I sometimes think Michael and I did you and Tom a favour."

* * *

The ballroom started to fill up, so Sybil took Tom's arm and started to make polite conversation with people she had hardly seen since she was married. She'd forgotten what long memories people in the country had. Whilst Edith's lifestyle was far more interesting that hers, her sister was frequently to be seen in Downton and in London; so she was an object of notoriety rather than curiosity. Sybil, sequestered in a small house in an industrial city with her working class husband, her nurses job and her modern ideas about childcare was a different matter. Her father may have gone a long way in forgetting that Tom used to be the chauffeur, but his neighbours hadn't. They were just that little bit too polite for her to be entirely comfortable. She took to glancing at her husband to see how he was faring. After six years of marriage, he was oddly more sensitive to a curious glance or a patronising smile than he had been when they first visited to attend Mary's wedding. He took it all in good grace, but she noted the relief on his face when they joined Mary and Matthew, who were unobtrusively tracking Rose around the ballroom.

After a little while, the band began to play. Sybil had heard jazz falling out onto the Manchester streets at night when she came home from a late shift at the hospital, or on the rare occasions she and Tom went to the pictures, but she had never heard it at such close quarters. They started off with a few standards that everyone could dance to, enticing the older members of the party onto the floor; indeed, she even saw her father dancing with Lord Merton's wife. But even with these perfectly respectable dances, the atmosphere was different. Young couples seemed to partner each other based purely on a desire to do so; they did not glide around the dance floor following the prescribed direction of the other couples, but shuffled and weaved their own way, almost bumping into people. Tom hated it. He was only a confident dancer in a Dublin pub or his own living room; having to concentrate on steering Sybil around Rose's friends as well as moving his feet to the rhythm of the music was making him tetchy. Eventually, after a third hasty stop and change of direction, he gave up and handed her over to her brother-in-law. He took up his preferred place at the edge of the dance floor, folded his arms and simply enjoyed watching his wife float effortlessly in time to the music. Sybil loved to dance and he was not going to deny her this chance. As he watched Robert claim his daughter and smile fondly as he steered her towards the other end of the ballroom, he realised that he was feeling unexpectedly at ease with the world. Tonight, Sybil was happy, so he was happy and it looked for once as if even her father was happy. It wouldn't last, of course - but just for this moment, he pushed that thought away and allowed himself savour the feeling of being content.

It lasted all of three minutes. He was roused from his reverie by an unpleasantly familiar voice.

"Sybil's changed since I last saw her"

He didn't bother turning round.

"She'd say for the better,"

"I dare say she would. Although - I can't say I agree with her."

He looked away for a second, willing himself not to rise to the bait.

"I don't think that would bother her,"

"Still, it's a great shame…." Larry smirked and watched Tom intently, waiting for his words to hit their mark.

Tom merely turned towards him and stared impassively, his wide blue eyes empty and emotionless.

"What is ?" he asked.

Larry's shark-smile widened as he pondered his next words.

"That she's…let herself down rather," Larry face assumed a mask of compassion and deep regret. "I believe her parents had such high hopes for her."

He watched as Tom's mouth hardened into a thin line.

"As did yours, from what I've heard," he said tightly. "Now if you'll excuse me I need to talk to my mother-in-law"

He caught Larry's low laugh as he turned away and wound his way towards Cora who was standing with Edith. Cora was looking worried.

"I'm so sorry he's here, Tom," she said, placing a consoling hand on his arm. "Please don't let him upset you."

"It's alright, Lady Grantham. I really don't care what he thinks of me," he said, not letting on that he cared very much about what Larry had just said about Sybil.

"Quite right," agreed Edith, "Larry always was unpleasant, even as a child. It was so odd that he took a shine to Sybil - she didn't even like him."

"Sybil was too kind to push him away," said Cora. "If he'd fallen for Mary…." she raised her eyebrows in mock horror at the thought.

"That would have been worth seeing," said Edith, amused.

Even Tom had to smile at that.

* * *

_Next Up: Rose is in Robert's bad books..._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thanks for the feedback so far !

* * *

After the next dance, the music picked up tempo and became a faster quickstep. Many of the older guested abandoned the dance floor to the the more energetic and even Sybil lost her dance partner as Matthew, bemused by the music, graciously declined to dance any further. She was claimed by an old childhood acquaintance who spun and skipped her around the floor at a dizzying speed. When the music stopped she was breathless and smiling, charmingly pink in the face. She thanked her partner and made her way to Tom, hidden away by a pillar where he could enjoy watching her without having to make polite conversation.

"Dance with me" she demanded, still out of breath as the music started up again.

"Lord, no," he said, "that's far to fast for me. I'd be falling over my feet."

"Tom, please, you're a good dancer…."

"Lady Sybil, would you…..?" she turned around to see a fresh faced youth of about nineteen, the youngest son of a friend of her fathers, offering his hand.

"Go on, love," said Tom, smiling.

Sybil smiled graciously at the boy and allowed him to squire her onto the dance floor. She loved the music, but the rather skinny young man she was dancing with was no substitute for her husband. A few minutes later, run ragged and thoroughly out of breath, she excused herself for the next dance and wandered back to where Tom had been. He wasn't there.

She circulated around the room in search of him, but he was not with Matthew and Mary, or her parents.

"I think I saw him heading in the direction of the library," said Matthew, "perhaps he fancied a stiffer drink ?"

Sybil smiled and headed off back into the salon, where she found Thomas exerting the full presence of his position as under-butler and making sure both staff and guests were kept in order. She was momentarily sidetracked, thinking that perhaps he had the bearing and personality for a good butler after all.

"Have you seen Mr Branson, Thomas - I'm sorry, Barrow ?"

"Yes, Milady, I believe Mr Branson is in the library."

"Is anyone else in there ?"

"No, Milady. His Lordship expressly asked that guests should be kept out of the library tonight. But seeing as Mr Branson is family…."

Sybil nodded.

"Thank you, Barrow."

She hurried over to the door, still brimming with exuberance from the music. She opened it only to find the lights off and the library illuminated solely by the light of the fire.

"Tom ?"

He had been sitting on the sofa in front of her. He stood up, a glass of whiskey in hand, looking a little surprised.

"What are you doing sitting in here in the dark ?" she asked, moving round to join him.

He smiled wryly.

"Well, you were enjoying dancing, so….I came in here to escape," he gestured with his glass and put his other hand in his pocket.

She looked at him, the firelight picking up the silver in her dress and playing shadows on her face.

"Why wouldn't you dance with me, Tom ?"

He gave a short laugh.

"You know I'm no good at….."

"But you are ! You're a fine dancer ! You're just too self-conscious…."

He sighed.

"I just….I don't want to make a fool of myself in front of all your father's friends."

"You won't make a fool of yourself….."

"Sybil, I'm still a curiosity to these people. I still feel that they are waiting for me to slip up."

She frowned, saddened that he still felt so ill at ease.

"They're curious about the both of us, Tom. But I don't think they mean to be unkind."

He gave her a small smile.

"Not all of them," he said softly, so she could hardly hear him. She could see the sadness on his face, even though he tried to hide it.

"Who….. Wait - have you been talking to Larry ?"

He avoided her gaze and merely shrugged.

"Tom ?"

She watched him take a swallow of his drink before pressing his lips together and giving her a defeated nod.

"Larry is an obnoxious bastard, Tom. Why are you letting him get to you ?"

He looked up, surprised at her colourful language and wondered idly whether that was the first time that word had ever passed a woman's lips in this room.

"You're a much better man than he is. Everyone knows it."

"That's not saying much."

"Tom…"

He gave a small grimace and turned his face to the darkened side of the room, but she reached up and gently turned it back to her. He didn't answer her, looking down and methodically swilling his glass. The flames in the grate behind him made the amber liquid glow in the crystal, making it look as if he were drinking liquid firelight.

"What did he say to you, sweetheart ?"

"It doesn't matter…"

"It does. Tell me," she commanded.

He stopped swilling his drink and looked up at her unwillingly.

"He said…he just said that you had changed."

She gently stroked his cheek with her gloved thumb and he was reminded of another occasion, long ago in the garage, when she had done the self same thing. Curiously, he was feeling very similar to the way he'd felt then, but for very different reasons. If Sybil remembered, she gave no sign of it, but just stepped a little closer.

"I have changed. But I like what I've changed into."

He couldn't help but smile then.

"So do I, rather."

She smiled back at him and reached her lips up to his, tasting the rich, peaty taste of the whiskey. Her arms slid round his neck and she heard him put his glass down before she felt his hands on her waist, pulling her closer.

"Let's forget about Larry," she mumbled.

They moved to the sofa without being conscious of doing so, Sybil slipping onto her husbands lap, her arms still entwined round his neck and her fingers stroking the back of his head. His warm hands smoothed over her bare back, his fingers trailing down her spine until they met the edge of her dress, then one hand tracing it back up and over her ribs, to where he gently tugged it off her shoulder, revealing the well above her collarbone. The beading on the dress made it slip down her arm, sliding until it hung above her elbow. His hand then dragged itself slowly down her to her thigh, and then further down until it found the hem of her dress and started to disappear underneath.

She shook her head, breaking away from him as she did.

"No. Just kiss me, Tom."

He looked at her in surprise.

"What ?"

She gave him a small, rather shy smile, one he knew meant that she was not going to tell him.

"Just kiss me."

He was only too happy to oblige.

Several long minutes later, she broke away to catch her breath.

"This reminds me of before we were married."

He grinned at her, remembering them taking every opportunity for privacy in the weeks before they were wed, heated kisses exchanged in small spaces, away from vigilant and prying eyes. They'd both been surprised at how quickly their passion for each other escalated once they had left Downton behind. Who knew that freedom would prove to be such an aphrodisiac ?

"Like the time Mam found us in the kitchen ?"

Sybil snorted and grinned widely, instantly transforming herself from a beauty to a rather bashful, gauche young woman. He loved how that grin broke her spell and made her real, a girl rather than a goddess. Not for the first time he wondered why he loved her most when she would say she looked her worst.

"I never thought I'd see you cower, Tom Branson,"

"I did not cower !" he protested, pulling himself up to stand on his dignity, "I was just trying to protect myself."

"From your mother, who is over sixty and has to be under five foot !"

He scowled at her, waggling his finger in her face.

"You know perfectly well my mother is terrifying !"

She giggled then, a sound like the stream of bubbles in the champagne she had been drinking earlier.

"Well, she certainly terrified you !" she shook her head, the ends of her bobbed hair swaying slightly around her chin.

"Kiss me again, Tom"

He didn't need telling twice.

* * *

Cora followed Robert as he strode into the salon, scanning the scattered guests leaning against walls and lounging on the seats placed there. Carson had replaced Thomas, looming over the young guests, his disapproval barely hidden.

"Carson, have you seen Lady Rose ?" he asked the butler a little tersely.

Carson's eyebrows met at his Lordship's tone. Someone was going to be in trouble. Nothing had exactly gone wrong tonight, but the evening felt out of kilter. It was somehow not up to his exacting standards.

"No, my Lord, I haven't."

Robert gave an exasperated sigh and turned back to his wife.

"Where on earth can she be, Robert ? Mary saw her talking to Larry Grey before the band broke for supper and no-one has seen her since !"

"She has to be somewhere….." he said, trying to pacify her.

"Would your Ladyship like me to send some of the staff to search for her ?" enquired Carson.

"No," said Robert firmly, "that might alert our guests. We don't want to create a scandal when there is none."

Carson nodded his assent. Robert looked towards the library door, noticing it wasn't quite shut.

"Carson - is there someone in the library ? I thought I specifically said no-one was to use it ?"

"I don't believe so, your Lordship,"

Robert shared an irritated and significant look with Cora, then strode over and pushed the door open a little. The room was in darkness apart from the firelight, but it was obviously occupied as there was a girlish giggle, followed by a sigh that became a gentle moan. Robert switched on the light and marched into the room.

"What on earth is going…. Good God ! Sybil !"

Sybil leapt up and they both stood, but not before her father caught sight of her in Tom's lap, kissing him enthusiastically.

"Papa !"

She casually slipped her dress back on her shoulder as she looked from her father to her mother, and finally to Edith, who had followed them in and was smirking at her sister's discomfort. Tom, absolutely mortified, looked anywhere but at his in-laws.

"What do you think you are doing ?" For some reason unfathomable to Sybil, her father was incensed.

"We weren't doing….." she began, a little put out.

"Never mind," he cut her off, his voice rising in volume, "I thought you knew how to behave properly. Instead I find my own daughter behaving like a…a _wanton _!"

"Robert !" exclaimed Cora, outraged.

"Don't speak to my…." began Tom, angrily starting forward at Robert, but Sybil cut him off.

"Papa, we're married !"

"That's beside the point," he bellowed, "what sort….."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Robert, this isn't going to find Rose ! " cried Cora, "and keep your voice down !"

"Rose ?" asked Sybil, confused.

"Rose has gone missing," explained her mother, "no-one has seen her since before supper. She was talking to Larry…."

"…who has also disappeared….." added Edith

Sybil snorted dismissively.

"Rose is far too sensible to go off with the likes of Larry….isn't she ? " she said, suddenly doubtful, looking between Cora and Tom for reassurance. After all, she didn't really know her younger cousin, and she knew Larry far to well for comfort. Before anyone could answer, the door swung open and Mary appeared, followed by Matthew.

"Well, she's not in her room. And Lord Merton hasn't seen Larry all evening. Apparently they're not speaking."

Cora was starting to get seriously worried. "Where on earth can they be ?"

"Larry knows this house like the back of his hand, Mama. They could be anywhere…." said Sybil.

"Robert - we have to find her ! Shrimpie and Susan are coming back the day after tomorrow and I don't want to have to…._explain _anything to them !"

Sensing the attention was no longer on them, Tom stepped forward beside his wife.

"We should spilt up. That's the best chance we have of finding her."

"Tom's right," nodded Matthew.

"Yes," replied Robert, thinking. "Mary and Matthew, you take the batchelor's corridor and the East Wing. Tom, Sybil - you'd better take the servant's quarters and the attics, just in case. Edith and I will look outside."

"What about below stairs ?" asked Matthew.

"He wouldn't take her there. Too many people milling about. Plus he wouldn't want to risk a run in with Mrs Hughes. No, that should cover it," replied Robert.

"What about me ?" asked Cora, indignantly.

"We need someone to attend to our guests, my love. We can't have the whole family disappearing."

She sighed. "I suppose so."

"Right - let's make a start. Come along, Edith," he said, leading the way out of the door, closely followed by Mary and Matthew. Cora, who was obviously becoming increasingly agitated, looked towards her youngest daughter. She'd thought experience with one headstrong, rebellious young woman would have given her the ability to deal with Rose. How wrong she had been. Sybil put far more thought into her rebellion that Rose ever did.

"Rose isn't as worldly-wise as she likes to think. Girls of that age never are," she said.

"Try not to worry, Lady Grantham," said Tom gently. "We'll find her and they'll be no harm done."

"Oh, Tom, I wish I had your optimism."

"We'll find her, Mama. Even Larry wouldn't try anything too awful…."

Cora looked doubtful.

"A few years ago, I would have agreed with you. Now I'm not so sure…."

* * *

_Next Up: So exactly what are Rose and Larry up to ?_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Once again, thanks to everyone for their feedback !

* * *

"Do you really think Larry would bring her up here ?" asked Tom as he followed Sybil up the claustrophobic staircase that lead up to the attics.

"He might do," she answered, "we used to play up here as children. I doubt Rose knows how to get to the attics so she'd be lost if she broke away from him."

They came to a door that had been partially propped open with a box. Clambering over it, she disappeared and suddenly the area was flooded with light.

It was like no attic Tom had ever seen. It looked like any other room at Downton, albeit shabbier, with cavernous ceilings that allowed the dust they'd disturbed to stream slowly upwards, made visible in the harsh light of bare lightbulbs. The space was liberally scattered with an odd mix of furniture that had obviously fallen out of fashion, giving it a forlorn air, as if the chairs and wardrobes were waiting for someone to remember them.

"Rose ?" Sybil called hopefully. There was no answer. A draught blew in from the high windows leading out onto the roof, making her shiver.

"You're getting cold," Tom said, taking off his jacket. "Here, put this on."

She took it gratefully and slipped into it, her hands disappearing in the length of the arms. Wrapping it around herself, she ventured further in amongst the abandoned furniture.

"I've not been up here in years," she said. Tom watched her as she wandered around the room, occasionally reaching out to touch an object. He examined her profile as she trailed her fingers across the brocade of a lugubrious, overstuffed armchair, wondering what childhood memories she was reliving. It was unreadable.

"Isn't this hideous ?" she said, looking up at him, a merry smile on her lips. She turned to survey the room. "What a lot of old junk. I don't know why they keep it up here. I'm sure someone could get some use from it."

She began to pick her way back to him between a series of large, dusty trunks on the floor.

"What's down there ?" he asked, pointing to a partition wall with a doorway in it.

"I think that's where the generator is," she said. "The attics used to run the whole length of the house, but they sectioned them off when they started putting in hot water and electricity. What ? " she asked, wondering why this had made him smile.

"I'm just surprised you know that, that's all," he said.

"I took an interest," she said haughtily. "Anyway, there's no-one up here. Let's go back down."

* * *

They wound their way back to the floor housing the maids' quarters and then took the back stairs down to the floor below. As they reached the door to the bedroom corridor, Tom reclaimed his jacket and they made to leave the hidden world of the house and return to its bright familiar spaces. They were stopped by a sound from below them; a sort of choked half-cry. Sybil looked at Tom in alarm and they both hung over the iron banisters to see what has happening in the stairwell below. They couldn't see anything, but they heard the sound again.

"Please, sir….."

Whoever it was was female and in trouble. Tom rushed down the stone steps ahead of his wife, brought up short a few flights down by the sight of Larry Grey with his hands either side of a young housemaid, effectively pinning her against the wall. It was obvious that Larry was very drunk.

"What are you doing ?" demanded Tom. "Let her go !"

Larry turned to look at them, seemingly surprised he had been interrupted. The housemaid looked immensely relieved to see Lady Sybil and her husband appear as if from nowhere on the staff stairs.

He grinned at them unsteadily, but made no attempt to move. It quickly became apparent that this was because he couldn't. If he let go of the wall, he would collapse. The housemaid took advantage of his distraction and bobbed under his arm, nodded at Lady Sybil and scurried down the stairs. Her disappearance seemed to startle Larry. He turned slowly and leant against the wall heavily.

"Oh look...Branson…" he muttered, swaying slightly, "and Sybil…darling Sybil….."

Sybil shot him a disgusted look.

"I'm not your darling, Larry. I never was. We'll have to get him over to the bachelor's corridor," she said to her husband, "and put him in one of the empty rooms for the night. He can't go downstairs again in that state."

Tom had been staring at Larry with distaste, but he nodded and grabbed hold of Larry's arm. slinging it over his shoulders and taking hold of his waist. Tom was sturdy, but Larry was taller than him and completely uncoordinated. He listed heavily to the right and tripped up on the first step they took. Sybil automatically slipped to his other side and steadied him, whilst he lifted his other arm sloppily and draped it over her shoulders. Together, she and Tom tried to manoeuvre the uncooperative Larry up the stairs.

He turned his head and looked at Sybil's profile as she concentrated on keeping him upright.

"Beautiful," he muttered under his breath, dragging his arm back to grab her hair at the nape of her neck, pushing drunken fingers haphazardly through her curls. She pulled away irritably, grabbing his hand and repositioning his arm across her shoulder.

"Stop it, Larry. You need to get to bed."

"What's he doing ?" asked Tom, alarmed.

"Nothing," muttered Sybil.

His attention was diverted by Larry leaning on him heavily. They managed to drag him up two steps, Tom supporting virtually all of his weight and Sybil steadying him as he attempted to put one foot in front of the other. She was so intent on not letting him fall that she failed to notice when his hand squirrelled its way over her shoulder and closed over her breast.

"Larry ! Get your hands off me !"

Tom looked across just as she swung round and slapped Larry hard, leaving a livid red mark on his face and sending him reeling backwards. It put Tom off balance, making him stagger and sprawl heavily on the steps with Larry collapsed across him, splayed against the iron bannister. Horrified, Sybil's hand flew to her mouth and she quickly knelt down to make sure Tom was not hurt.

"Oh ! …..Darling, are you alright ?"

"Did he touch you ?" he asked through gritted teeth, struggling out from underneath Larry.

"Never mind that. What are we going to…..'

"Of course I mind if another man forces himself on my wife !" exploded her husband.

There was a gloating cackle.

"Sybil likes a bit of the rough stuff, don't you ?"

Tom launched himself at Larry, grabbing his jacket by the lapels and pulling him up. He stared into his face, breathing hard.

"Tom !" Sybil was alarmed. She had never, ever seen her husband be violent to anyone, but from the look on his face it seemed as if he was about to toss Larry over the banister.

Larry leered at them drunkenly, apparently unconcerned about any fate Tom might have in store for him. She watched her husband struggle with his better nature, exhaling with relief when he eventually threw Larry back down in disgust.

Tom was looking rather bedraggled with his jacket sliding off his shoulder and his hair falling over his eyes. It was sticking up at the back where he'd had hold of Larry's arm.

"We need to get him moved, Tom," she said, trying to focus on the practical. "You'll have to go downstairs and get one of the footmen to help you."

"I'll do no such thing. I'm not leaving you alone with him. You go."

"He can hardly stand, Tom. I'll be alright. Just go downstairs…"

"No."

"Tom…."

"Let's just leave him"

"We can't ! The maids use these stairs all the time !"

Her husband gave her the mulish look that she knew signalled his patience was wearing thin and he was about to become obstinate.

"Why do you want me to go, anyway ? Why can't you go ?"

Without meaning to, her voice rose a notch.

"Because I'm worried he might provoke you into doing something you'll regret !"

"You're the one who just hit him !" exclaimed her husband, eyes wide with disbelief.

Larry's laugh made them turn their heads towards him.

"He's turned you into a fishwife. How _perfectly_ charming."

Sybil grabbed Tom's arm before he could make a move in Larry's direction.

"Why do you always have to be such a pig, Larry ?"

Larry gave a hollow laugh, tried to sit up and slipped down another step and collapsed onto his side, grinning inanely.

Tom sighed, shaking his head.

"Go downstairs and find Alfred, love. I promise I won't touch him."

She nodded, and casting a final dark look at Larry, hurried down the stairs.

* * *

Sybil had become such a regular visitor to the kitchen that the staff no longer payed her any attention as she passed them on the final flight of stairs, merely standing aside to let her pass with a smile. As she approached the servants hall, she could hear Mrs Patmore taking charge of the clearing up operation in the kitchen at full volume. Anna caught sight of her before she got to the doorway and rose, making everyone in the servant's hall follow suit.

"What can we do for you, milady ?" she asked as Sybil stepped into the room.

"Please sit down, everybody. I'm sorry to barge in on you," she apologised, "but I was hoping for some help…."

She looked around the table a little shyly; she hated disturbing the servants when they had some respite from the demands of the family. Apart from Mr Bates and Wilkins, her mother's granite-faced ladies maid, there were very few people about; especially no young footmen.

"Lady Sybil ? Is there something I can do for you ?" Mrs Hughes had caught sight of Sybil's dress floating past her sitting room and had come out to investigate.

Sybil folded her hands together in front of her.

"Oh, Mrs Hughes - I believe there is. You see, Mr Grey has been taken rather…ill, and is on the back stairs just below the maids' corridor. Mr Branson is with him. But we need some help to get him to one of the rooms on the bachelor's corridor.."

Mrs Hughes raised her eyebrows at Sybil.

"Yes, I heard that Mr Grey was somewhat…..indisposed. Lily ran into him on the way back down here. I've told the maids they are not to use that staircase again tonight. But I wasn't aware that Mr Grey was staying overnight ?"

"He wasn't," said Sybil, "but he can't drive back home as he is. He'll have to sleep it off."

"Can't Lord Merton's chauffeur take him ?" suggested Mr Bates. "He's in the chauffeur's cottage with Mr Pratt. I can go and fetch him, if you'd like ?"

Sybil shook her head.

"Thank you, Bates, but I don't believe he is staying with his family. I'm not sure what his plans were exactly"

Mrs Hughes sighed.

"In that case, I'll have one of the maids make up a room for him then," she said, turning to give instructions to the two housemaids at the other end of the long dining table.

"I was hoping one of the footmen could help Mr Branson get him to a room….."

"I'm afraid they are all otherwise engaged upstairs. Could Albert not help Mr Branson ?" Mrs Hughes indicated an anaemic looking hall boy standing by the piano. Sybil looked at him pensively. He didn't look as if he would be any more use than she had been.

"Otherwise," continued the housekeeper, "I will have to send someone upstairs to ask Mr Carson to spare James or Alfred….."

"I think that might be…."

Sybil was interrupted by the sound of the back door opening and a loud female laugh, followed by several pairs of heavy footsteps echoing on the flags. Rose emerged into the servants hall, along with several members of the band. A strong smell of tobacco smoke accompanied them and Sybil noticed that Rose was grasping the neck of what looked like a bottle of her father's precious Krug '22. Seeing everyone stood up, the party stopped abruptly, still laughing.

"Golly," said Rose, "we didn't expect an audience ! Oh ! Hello, Sybil, what are you doing down here ?"

"I might ask you the same thing !" Sybil replied with annoyance. "Where on earth have you been ?"

Rose looked anything but contrite. She drew herself up and seemed to take offence at being questioned.

"I've been outside talking to Jack and the band."

"She's been quite safe," assured the ridiculously handsome man Sybil had seen earlier.

"You just disappeared ! Mama has been going frantic !"

"We were only talking !"

"Everyone has been searching for you. Papa's looking for you outside right this minute !"

Rose's face fell.

"Oh Lord, is he really ?"

Sybil couldn't help but feel some satisfaction that she was finally beginning to realise that she was in a lot of trouble.

"You'd better go upstairs and find Mama so they know you're safe. We all thought you'd gone off with Larry."

Rose pulled a face.

"Larry Grey ?" she laughed derisively, "Are you kidding ? What on earth makes you think I'd go off with him ?"

Before Sybil could deliver the dressing down she was sorely tempted to give her cousin, Mrs Hughes decided to intervene. It had been a long day, and the last thing she wanted was a full-blown argument between two members of the family in front of the servants.

"Lady Rose, I believe Lady Grantham is in the ballroom."

Rose looked from Mrs Hughes to Sybil and realised that their patience was wearing thin. She gave a small nod of acquiescence, and with a brief word to the bandleader, she hurried up to the salon, pausing only to dispose of the bottle of champagne.

Mrs Hughes and Sybil shared a look that spoke volumes on the subject of troublesome girls.

"Papa will be furious with her."

"I dare say she'll survive his Lordship's fury, milady. You did."

Sybil couldn't help but smile.

"So now, we just need to attend to Mr Grey," said the housekeeper

"I really don't think Albert would be able to move him, even with Mr Branson's help."

"I'll go and find Mr Carson and ask if he can spare Alfred," said Anna, moving from around the table.

"What's the matter with Larry ?" asked a warm American voice. Jack Ross, the band leader, had stepped forward and was regarding them with interest.

"Mr Grey is…indisposed," replied Mrs Hughes.

Jack laughed softly.

"Drunk again, huh ? Larry just can't hold his liquor these days. Where is he ? I'll give you a hand."

Sybil smiled at him gratefully.

"He's with my husband on the back stair. Mr Branson tried to move him but he's just too….." she gave a small, rather hopeless gesture.

"I can imagine," Jack snorted. "Lead the way, Lady Sybil. It will be my pleasure to help."

* * *

Sybil ran up the steps as fast as she could, the clatter of her heels echoing up and down the stairwell. Tom leaned over the bannister, looking hopeful when he saw who it was.

"Did you manage to find someone ?"

She stopped to smile at him, which is when he noticed the dark figure behind her.

"Mr Ross has kindly offered to help."

Jack looked up and nodded in greeting.

"Mr Branson."

Tom closed his eyes and sighed with relief.

"Thank God for that."

They found Larry still sprawled against the bannister where Sybil had left him. Jack gave him an unfriendly smile that gave her the feeling that this wasn't the first time they'd been in this position.

"Thank you for coming to help, Mr Ross," said Tom.

"You're welcome," he replied. "Shall we ?"

Between them, they pulled Larry upright and took his weight. His head rolled forward, his chin resting on his chest.

"Come on, Larry, stand up straight," muttered Jack, "you should know the drill by now."

Larry's head rose and he looked at Jack and gave a bitter laugh.

"Look at what I've come to. Carried by a grubby mick and a filthy…."

"Larry !" warned Sybil.

Jack stopped and eyed Larry with contempt.

"If you find us so offensive, Mr Grey, my band and I will take ourselves elsewhere. There are plenty of other clubs in London."

Inebriated though he was, Larry was not so stupid as to lose his main attraction. He made no further comment, but let Tom and Jack manoeuvre him up the stairs to one of the bachelor's bedrooms.

They all but threw him on the bed.

"You need to turn him over." Sybil was undoing Larry's tie and loosening his collar.

"Leave him, Sybil. Let's go back downstairs."

"We can't. If he's sick, he'll choke,"

Tom and Jack shared a look as if to say that neither of them would be very bothered if that happened. But Sybil was insistent, so Tom shook his head and climbed on the bed to push Larry onto his front.

She had found a bowl and a glass of water, which she put by his bed.

"I know he probably deserves it, but he's going to feel very ill in the morning."

"It won't be the first time," said Jack rather heartlessly. "I wouldn't waste your sympathy on him."

She sighed.

"I suppose so."

The three of them turned to look at the prone figure on the bed, already drifting into unconsciousness.

Jack moved first, seeming to shake himself into action.

"I must get back downstairs. I have a job to do."

"Thank you so much, Mr Ross. It was so kind of you to help."

"Not at all, Lady Sybil."

Tom smiled gratefully and extended his hand.

"Yes - thank you. I don't think I could have put up with him for much longer,"

Jack took his hand and grasped it firmly.

"You're welcome," he nodded.

He turned on his heel, pausing as he opened the door.

"Just one thing. Perhaps you have request for us to play ?"

Sybil's eyed brightened immediately.

"Yes ! There is something you could play…..something my husband can't refuse to dance to….."

"Oh yes ?" said Jack, raising a querying eyebrow.

Sybil looked over to Tom and smiled, taking his hand.

"It Had To Be You."

* * *

_Up next: the end of the night..._


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks again for all the feedback - this chapter turned out a bit longer than I thought but hope it was worth the wait !

* * *

After Jack had gone, Sybil and Tom left a by now unconscious Larry to his bed. They first visited their bedroom, so they could make themselves presentable again; then, hair, jacket and dress smoothed, they wandered downstairs.

The noise from the ballroom bubbled up the grand staircase as they descended into the salon. It looked as if some of her parents' friends had already called for their chauffeurs and were preparing to leave, as Alfred and Jimmy were helping them into their coats. No doubt they felt they had adequately dispensed their obligations to their hosts and were surrendering the evening to those younger and more energetic.

The ballroom was warmer and noisier than it had been before the band broke for supper. They were back in full swing, playing a fast and furious quickstep. By now, the floor was almost exclusively full of Rose's friends, the older members of the party relegated to standing around the walls making conversation or bemusedly watching the antics of the young. It seemed more chaotic; the dancers moved rapidly around the floor, but also paused to chat to their friends, or dragged less willing participants up to join them. There was a great deal of rather raucous laugher over the music. Sybil wondered if this is what it was like in clubs like Larry's. She couldn't remember the Downton ballroom seeing an evening like it.

Rose was conspicuously missing from the dance floor. They spotted her by Cora's side, talking to a woman older than her mother. It seemed that Cora was not about to let her out of her sight. Sybil spotted Mary and Matthew just beyond her mother, so they wandered over to join them.

"Rose told Mama that you found Larry," began Mary.

"Yes," said Sybil. "He was in a bit of a state. "

Mary quirked an eyebrow at this.

"Did he give you any trouble ?" asked Matthew, looking from Sybil to Tom

Sybil glanced at her husband, willing him to remain silent. She didn't want to have to discuss Larry's behaviour and have her family make a fuss about it.

"No, not really. We put him in one of the bachelor's bedrooms to sleep it off. Are Papa and Edith back yet ?" she said, swiftly changing the subject.

"No, Barrow has gone to find them and tell them Rose is safe."

"Papa is going to be furious with her."

"Well, she doesn't seem particularly repentant," said Mary, looking over at Rose, who was listening to the older woman regale her with stories from the last century and looked bored to tears.

"She is twenty, I suppose," said Sybil. "She's going to start to want her independence. Live her own life."

"Even if it entails getting drunk and dancing in disreputable nightclubs ? Your bid for independence involved training as a nurse, not getting yourself into the gossip columns. You were hardly scandalous."

Sybil gave Mary a pitying look. She seemed to have a very short memory.

"That's not what you said when I tried to elope"

Mary shook her head impatiently, not allowing the comparison.

"Even so, you never _wanted_ to get your picture on the front page of the London newspapers."

"Rose isn't as bad as that, surely ? I know she's spent some time with Aunt Rosamund, but Mama hasn't said anything about her….misbehaving."

"I suspect that is because that half the time she's not where Mama _thinks_ she is. You haven't seen how she is during the Season."

Sybil couldn't be sure whether there was accusation in her sister's voice or not.

"Mary - I'm a nurse. I can't just swan into the hospital and announce I'm taking six weeks off over the summer !"

"They must give you some holiday"

She closed her eyes, not wishing to go over this again. Her older sister and her mother simply couldn't understand her reluctance to spend at least some of the Season in London with them. Sybil would rather have had her right arm cut off.

"Yes, I do, and in the summer we take the children to see their grandmother in Dublin."

Mary softened, reaching out and taking her sister's hand.

"It's just we miss you, darling. You should allow yourself a little fun now and again."

"I do have fun !" retorted Sybil.

"In Manchester ?" asked Mary sardonically, as if such a thing were simply not possible.

"Yes," Sybil became defensive. "It may not involve grand balls and garden parties but we have a lot of fun….." She tailed off. How could she explain the joy of bundling the children into the car and going to the beach at Formby for the day with a picnic and a couple of flasks of coffee, and running around until all four of them had collapsed in a heap, breathless with laughter ? Of Tom chasing her through the shallow waves, barefoot with her skirts lifted and their daughters jumping up and down as he caught her and easily threw her over his shoulder ? Of sitting in the sand with Aoife in her lap watching Niamh and Tom build a sandcastle ? She tried to imagine Mary doing the same thing. Matthew would love it, as would Peter and George, but Mary ? She made a mental note to suggest it to Matthew one day.

"Anyway," she said, coming back to the present. "There must be something Rose wants to do with her life, surely ?" She did not want to believe that a spirited, intelligent girl didn't have aspirations beyond dancing in nightclubs and being mentioned in society columns.

"Beyond making herself notorious ? Of course," said Mary darkly, "she's got Edith's example to follow in that respect."

"Mary ! What a horrid thing to say !"

"You can't tell me you approve of Edith's situation ?"

"Edith is my sister," said Sybil shortly, "and she will always be my sister whatever she does. Whether I approve or not doesn't matter."

Mary raised an eyebrow.

"So you don't approve then."

Sybil sighed, irritated that her sister seemed so keen on getting her to agree with her.

"I just wish Michael were in a position to marry her. She'd like to be married. But he isn't, thanks to yet another example of the ridiculous laws of this country."

"So he puts our sister in an untenable position," said Mary with some warmth. "No position, no home of her own, no children….it seems to me that Edith is paying a high price to be with him."

"She loves him," said Sybil simply.

"Oh, darling - it's not all about love. I know you think differently, but would you have lived with Tom if he had been in the same situation ?"

Sybil considered for a moment.

"Yes, I believe I would. He couldn't offer me a position, as you call it, or a home of my own when we married anyway. And let's face it, Michael's wife is none the wiser. No one is hurt by this arrangement."

"Apart from Mama and Papa. And Gregson benefits from it more that Edith does," said Mary somewhat vehemently, "and he has far less to lose."

"Don't be so sure," replied Sybil, "one can never know what people get from such arrangements. You couldn't understand why I wanted to marry Tom for a long time."

"You still insisted on being married," her sister answered.

"I suppose that was my way of showing I was serious about it. But would you not live with Matthew if he weren't free in the same way ?"

Mary looked uncomfortable. Sybil had expected her to say something brittle, but she didn't, remaining silent whilst her sister watched her expectantly.

"I don't know," she said finally. "I can't imagine not living with Matthew now, but, if we had not been free to marry….." she tailed off uncertainly, "I'm not as brave as you are, Sybil. Or Edith….I care what people think. Perhaps I shouldn't, but I do."

"Then I am very glad Matthew was free," said Sybil soberly.

* * *

Any further discussion of the topic was cut short when the music changed. The next number was slower and she felt the mood in the room shift. She recognised this song. Giving Jack a grateful look over her shoulder, she touched Tom gently on the arm.

"Dance with me," she demanded once more. This time his merely smiled and took her hand, letting her lead him out onto the floor as Jack began to sing.

The song was not to most of Rose's friends' taste, so there were fewer couples on the dance floor, which suited Tom. He even noticed Matthew offer his hand to Mary and pull her into hold.

Jack's voice was smooth and warm and intimate, giving them the lie that they were the only ones he was singing to. As he looked down at his partner, she seemed in a world of her own.

"Penny for them ?" he asked, jolting her out of her reverie.

She smiled a little guiltily.

"Mary asked me earlier whether I would have lived with you, if you had been in Michael Gregson's position."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh yes ? And what did you say ?"

"That I would. It _did_ have to be you, Tom. I don't think I could have given you up and married someone else, whatever the situation."

He blinked at her. Sybil was a loving and affectionate wife, but she was not prone to grand pronouncements. When they came, they came out of the blue and their bluntness would hit him like a shillelagh.

"I know I don't say it very often," she continued, "and since the children arrived we've felt so much a family that I forget how difficult it all was at first," she smiled. "Silly really, when you look back…..this is where I was supposed to be all along."

If they had been back in Dublin, Tom would have swept her into his arms and kissed her senseless, but mindful of his surroundings he settled for giving the hand he was holding a squeeze and smiling shyly at her. She giggled.

"You're blushing."

"No I'm not ! It's warm in here !" he protested.

All the same, he moved his other hand a little so it freed itself from the chiffon and rested on her bare skin, pulling her a little closer.

"I did keep telling you that you were in love with me," he grinned. "It's a good thing you listened to me in the end."

"You needn't look so pleased with yourself. I've told you before - it was Mary's expression at Matthew's engagement that made up my mind."

"But you knew before then"

"I suppose I did," she conceded "but it was listening to my heart that did it, not to your pig-headed arguments"

"Oh, of course" he nodded, wide-eyed.

Sybil shook her head and slid her eyes away from him under her lashes, but not before she caught the cheerful, lopsided smirk that meant he thought he'd had the last word. She was just about to retort when her eyes grew wide as she caught sight of her father over Tom's shoulder.

"Papa's back…..Oh dear…"

"What ?"

She turned back to look at him anxiously.

"He's taking Rose into the library."

Luckily the music came to an end just then as they both stopped involuntarily, watching Rose follow a purposeful and clearly fuming Robert. They smiled at Jack in thanks for the song and made their way back to where Edith was standing with Mary and Matthew.

"Is Papa really angry ?" asked Sybil

"He's furious. Mama has gone with them to try and calm him down," replied Mary.

"You'd think he'd be relieved she's safe," said Tom, shaking his head.

Edith smiled at her sisters uncomfortably.

"I'm afraid he wasn't very happy before he saw Rose. He and I…" she trailed off, not needing to say anything else to make it perfectly clear what had happened.

Any further conversation was cut short a few minutes later by the man himself appearing, grim faced.

"I've sent Rose to bed," he said shortly. "Thank goodness Shrimpie and Susan are back soon." He surveyed the dance floor, alive with young men and women weaving around the room. A casual observer would be forgiven for thinking that Robert was looking upon Sodom and Gomorrah.

"Good God," he said in disgust. "I'm going back to the Library. Tell Carson to let me know when anyone of our acquaintance leaves."

If Rose's friends noticed her absence, there was no sign of it. The band played on until midnight, then with some enthusiastic persuasion from the floor and Cora's tacit nod, they played a few more numbers. Carson's eyebrows were raised a little at this; he'd been hoping that with the end of the music the guests would be on their way and he could set the staff to clearing up and get them to bed. But he had no such luck. As Jack and the band played their last number and gathered themselves up to head back to their hotel in Ripon, the young guests spilled themselves out on the terrace, shivering a little in the chilly spring night and asking the footmen for more drinks. Alfred shot a worried look at Mr Carson who raised his eyes heavenward. At this rate, no-one would be in bed before dawn.

Sybil could tell that Tom was flagging. They'd had an early start after a busy week and it was rare for the pair of them to be up past eleven o'clock on a Saturday night. By quarter to one in the morning, he had become taciturn and rather vacant. She had said goodbye to the last of her parents friends and neighbours, a few of them dragging their unwilling sons and daughters with them. Leaving Mary, Matthew and Edith with the guests from London, who seemed to have no intention in returning to wherever they were staying, they joined her father and mother in the library.

Robert was pouring himself a drink. When he saw Sybil and Tom come in, he poured two more.

"Don't these people ever go to bed ?" he asked irritably. "Don't they realise what a nuisance they are being, keeping the staff up ?"

Cora shook her head in disapproval.

"I don't think they consider anything apart from what they want," she said, turning to her daughter. "You two should go to bed. You look shattered."

"We really should help the others with the stragglers," said Sybil. "It's not fair to leave it all to Mary."

As if on cue, her sister opened the door.

"I've told Carson to serve coffee and nothing else. And to send the kitchen staff and the footmen to bed. Once they realise the cellar is closed, they'll go elsewhere."

Robert raised his eyebrows, but he was stopped from commenting by Edith.

"I think the message is getting through," she said wearily. "At the mention of coffee, Freddie Guthrie suggested they go back to his father's place and continue there."

"Freddie's parents won't be very pleased," said Sybil.

"Apparently they're not there. Lord and Lady Renton are in Greece."

"Oh Lord…."

An uncomfortable silence descended, as they imagined what was about to happen at Renton Hall, only slightly tinged with relief that it wasn't going to happen here.

The door opened again and Matthew joined them, a relieved smile on his face.

"The chauffeurs have just been ordered. Everyone will have gone in half an hour, thankfully."

Cora turned to her eldest daughter.

"Well, I think we have your future Countess to thank for that," she said, smiling with pride.

"If this is what its going to be like, we won't be hosting any balls for anyone under forty," said Mary grimly.

* * *

Matthew had been right. Half an hour later, Tom was sitting on their bed, taking off his shoes and struggling with his collar studs. He was so tired he had mentally shut down an hour ago, moving like an automaton from the library sofa up the stairs to the sanctuary of their room. Sybil was sat at her dressing table, her chin propped up on her hands, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

"What an evening," she said, "I'm not sure Mama and Papa have ever seen anything like it."

"Not in London ?" he asked

She shook her head, looking down to unscrew the top of a jar of cold cream.

"I don't think they visit anyone under the age of 60 when they're in London."

"I thought they would go with Rose to dances and such like ?"

"Not always, if Mama knows where she is going. The thing is I don't think Rose has been entirely truthful about where she does go some of the time."

Tom could only smile at that.

"Seems to be a family trait."

Sybil blushed. Even after all this time, she still hated to be reminded of what happened at Ripon and how their relationship nearly ended before it even started.

They returned companionably to their tasks, Tom slipping off his braces and divesting himself of his stiff shirt, then gratefully pulling on his familiar white undershirt. A sudden thought struck him, jolting him out of his drowsy preparations.

"You don't think our girls will behave like that, do you ?"

"It wouldn't surprise me. Aoife is already getting quite wilful and she's only two."

He sat down heavily on the bed, frowning at the vision of his two teenaged daughters, looking remarkably like twin seventeen year old Sybils, dancing in the arms of unnamed and faceless young men, who he knew instinctively were Larry Grey.

"Oh God," he groaned, looking up at her in horror. "Whatever are we going to do ?"

Sybil grinned as she got up from her dressing table and climbed into bed, patting the space beside her.

"I think you'd better ask Papa if he'll teach you how to use one of his shotguns," she laughed as he lifted the blankets to clamber in beside her. "But seriously, darling we won't have to worry about that for at least another fifteen years."

"Twelve," he said morosely.

"Twelve ?"

"You were seventeen at Ripon"

"Nearly eighteen," she reminded him. "And anyway, I'm sure our girls will want to do more with their lives than dance and flirt in some club. I hope so, anyway"

"I'm not sure slipping out to political rallies is any better."

Her eyes glinted wickedly, rather enjoying his discomfort.

"I quite agree," she said, giving him a friendly dig in the ribs. "I mean, who knows what kind of unsuitable men they might run into ?"

He was still frowning. She rolled over to prop her head on her hand and look at him. The gentle light of the bedside lamp showed up the crow's feet around his eyes and the creases around his mouth, not to mention the lines of his forehead. There were grey hairs too, she noticed, scattered like needles through the darker hair at his temples. Sybil thought they leant him a distinguished air, although she swore that Tom himself had not noticed them. Thank God he is not losing his hair like Matthew, she thought uncharitably as she wormed closer and made him move his arm around her.

"When did we get to be old, Tom ?"

This snapped him out of his gloomy contemplation and he turned to her, wriggling under the blankets as he did so.

"We're not old. You're not even thirty, love"

"I felt old tonight. Watching Rose's friends."

"Why ?"

"They're just such _silly_ girls. They have so much more freedom than I ever had at that age, and what do they do with it ? When I was Rose's age I was training to become a nurse."

"But you wouldn't have wanted to be like that, would you ?" he asked, lifting his head off the pillow to look at her better.

"No, of course not. But I suppose it just makes me sad that they have so much freedom and yet seem to do so little with it."

Tom's head had returned to the pillow and his eyelids were drooping. Hovering between consciousness and sleep, he felt his mind unclutter and give him a moment of brilliant clarity.

"Your freedom was harder won, love, so you value it more. You think you feel old because in fact you've done more in a few short years than any of them will do in a lifetime."

Sybil was silent, thinking. She felt him settle his body beside hers, knowing that he wanted nothing more than to drift off to the lullaby of the warmth of her body. His mouth dropped open a little and his breathing became more regular. She smiled.

"Darling Tom," she whispered, reaching up to kiss his forehead. He grunted in his sleep.

She turned over and switched out the light.

* * *

_Next up: The morning after..._


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Thanks again for the feedback !

* * *

It was Christmas day. Carson had just brought the pudding into the dining room, encased in a silver dome, in which she could see everyone's faces distorted. Tom was sat beside her, smiling; Granny and Isobel were there, as well as her Mama and Papa. She wasn't quite sure what Dr Clarkson was doing there, or Cousin Patrick, but she was sure there was probably a good reason. Granny had raised a spoon and was wishing everyone a Happy Christmas, then tapped the silver dome, making a series of soft, dull thuds. Sybil thought this rather odd behaviour and was beginning to get rather irritated with her grandmother, as she loved christmas pudding and was feeling hungry. For some strange reason, Granny started tapping the dome again.

She woke up with a start, the mother in her realising that the dull thuds were real and that someone was tentatively knocking on the door. Being sprawled comfortably on her front, she raised herself onto a weary elbow to push the hair out of her eyes. She looked at the clock: it was a quarter to six. Tom was peacefully asleep beside her, stretched out, relaxed and dead to the world. She briefly considered poking him in the stomach to wake him up, but another flurry of knocks told her that whoever was on the other side of the door was getting agitated . She whimpered to herself, hauled herself out of bed and staggered to the door, opening it a crack.

Nanny was standing on the other side in a candlewick dressing gown with her hair in a long plait. She looked very apologetic, but seeing her jolted Sybil fully awake.

"What's the matter ?" she asked anxiously.

"I'm so sorry to disturb you so early, Lady Sybil, but its Miss Aoife. She's asking for you. She won't settle down again and has managed to work herself up into quite a tizzy."

Sybil groaned inwardly.

"It's alright, Nanny. Let me just get my dressing gown."

They could hear Aoife the minute they entered the nursery corridor. George was standing at the door of the bedroom he shared with his brother, staring curiously at where the noise was coming from, obviously finding the racket quite entertaining.

"What on earth….."

Sybil hurried to the girls bedroom, only to find an extremely angry toddler trying to wrestle her way out of her cot. Aoife's small hands were gripped around the bars as if trying to shake them loose. She was bellowing at the top of her voice, a sound that quickly became a wail as soon as she saw her mother.

"Mama ! Mama !"

Not to be outdone, Niamh was also snivelling.

"Mama, Aoife woke me up !"

"Darling, what's the matter ? Come here," Sybil bent over and picked Aoife up. She quietened almost immediately. "There now. What's all this fuss about ?"

Aoife didn't have the words to tell her, merely pointing to the cot.

"You don't like being in the cot ?"

Aoife shook her head.

"But you've been in it all night, sweetheart ! And its too early to get up yet…."

"Mama….."

"Niamh, darling, try and go back to sleep."

"Can I have a drink ?"

"No, love, its too early."

"But I'm thirsty !"

"No, you're not. Just go back to sleep and you can have something when you get up."

"I'm not tired now Aoife's woke me," Niamh said mutinously.

"Well, if you get up now, you'll be tired later and you'll have to go to bed early."

She could see Niamh struggling with her desire to get up and her hatred of not being allowed to stay up later than her sister. The shame of an early bedtime won out and she worried herself back down under the covers.

Aoife had been watching this with interest, glad to be out of her prison.

"Come on, little one," Sybil said to her, "go back down for a few more hours….take teddy with you…." Sybil moved to put Aoife back in the cot but she began to scream again and struggle in her mother's arms. Sybil wondered, not for the first time, how she could be so _loud_. She grasped the writhing toddler with both hands to stop her falling.

"Aoife, calm down….look, perhaps Niamh will let you sleep in her bed…"

"No ! I don't want her !"

"Niamh, it's just…."

"She's a stupid baby !"

"Niamh !" Sybil looked shocked as Aoife started to cry.

"She'll just cry…." Niamh said, frowning and crossing her arms in front of her tightly.

"Hush, darling, she didn't mean it," she said, gently bouncing Aoife in her arms.

"Yes I did."

"Niamh, that's enough," warned her mother sharply.

Her older daughter sat on the bed, muttering crossly to herself, whilst Sybil tried to soothe a whining Aoife.

"You need to go back to sleep, little one," she said, advancing on the cot again, but Aoife was wise to her let out another great wail.

"Oh, _please_, Aoife…." She rolled her eyes in desperation. "Alright, alright…" She gave in, carrying the little girl to the window and drawing the curtains. The sun hadn't risen and the park was dim in the misty half-light. The servants would be up soon, but it would be at least two hours before the rest of the house was stirring. Sybil was shattered. At home the children had their routine, meaning she and Tom normally got a full night's rest. They'd got past disrupted nights pacing the bedroom with crying babies. She wondered if she sat with her daughters there was a chance they might relax and go back to sleep.

"Mama story" demanded Aoife.

"Yes, lets have a story. Where's your book ?"

She made herself comfortable on the end of Niamh's bed, settled Aoife in her lap and flicked through the pages.

"Now, what shall we read ?"

Niamh, her thumb in her mouth, had crept out of her blankets and settled herself at Sybil's side.

"Take your thumb out of your mouth, darling. It's not made of toffee."

Niamh did as she was bid and tucked her hands under her mother's arm as Sybil smoothed the open pages of the book.

"Right. Here we are !

_James James _

_Morrison Morrison_

_Wetherby George Dupree…_."

Both children as they listened to their mother's low voice intently, peering over the page to see the charming illustrations. Niamh knew this one off by heart and would join in when she thought a line needed particular emphasis.

"_…to-the-end-of-the-town-if-you-don't-go-down-with- ME !_" chorused Sybil and Niamh together, giggling.

"What next ?" she asked, scanning through the book, "how about this one ?"

"_The King asked_

_The Queen, and _

_The Queen asked_

_The dairymaid…._"

"But that's Daddy's poem !" cried Niamh, wide eyed that her mother would even think of reading it to them. "Where is Daddy ?" she asked.

"He's still asleep."

"I'm going to get him !" Before Sybil could stop her, Niamh had slid to the floor and was scurrying towards of the nursery door.

"Niamh ! No !" Sybil made a grab for her nightgown as she passed, but she slipped easily out of her grasp.

"_Please_ don't wake your father up !" she called to her daughter's retreating form. "Oh no," she muttered, grabbing Aoife and settling her on her hip as she got off the bed. "Niamh ! Come here !"

But by the time she had moved into the nursery corridor, Niamh was opening the door to the main part of the house, a small, barefoot sprite in a white nightgown and tousled dark hair. Sybil strode after her, calling her back, but she was already trotting down the corridor and had turned the corner ahead of her, out of Sybil's sight.

* * *

Larry was disorientated when he woke up. He opened his eyes to see his collar and studs on a beside table next to a glass of water. He didn't recognise this room. Wherever he was, someone had taken off his shoes.

He rolled over onto his back to take in the rest of his surroundings and gradually things fell into place. He was at Downton. What he wasn't sure about was why he was here, as he hadn't stayed at Downton since Mary and Matthew's wedding and the quite frankly excessive reaction to his little joke with the chauffeur - the chauffeur. Branson. Jack. Sybil - oh God, yes….Sybil.

He groaned, turning back over. He'd been awake long enough now to realise his head felt as if someone were drilling in it and his stomach was decidedly murky. Just another Sunday morning, Larry, he thought to himself. You need to get out of here before everyone wakes up. He wondered vaguely if any of the kitchen staff were up and if it was worth ringing for some tea, but he thought better of it. If Sybil had said anything about what transpired last night, he would be lucky if he got out of there in one piece. Lord Grantham was not to be trifled with, nor, he suspected, was the chauffeur, although Branson had had ample opportunity to thrash him last night if he'd been so inclined.

He swung himself off the bed and felt for his shoes, then stumbled into the bathroom. The grey morning light made him look greyer, his eyes red-rimmed and his skin pale and dry. He splashed some water onto his face with shaky hands and rubbed the five-o'clock shadow on his chin which, like the inside of his mouth, felt like sandpaper. Every movement jolted his head. He grabbed hold of the sides of the washbasin and breathed deeply. It didn't help.

Coming out of the bathroom, he stuffed his collar and studs into his pocket and drained the glass of water. He remembered driving here, so he must have his car keys somewhere…he felt all the pockets in his dinner jacket and found them, along with his wallet. Anything else he would just leave. He couldn't risk being found here. If his father found out that he had manhandled Sybil, his one secure source of funds would dry up. Then again, it might already be too late. But Sybil was always kindhearted….

Larry had always thought Sybil to be beautiful, and she'd had a softness and sweet docility that had appealed to him. She had changed since he's seen her last - by God, she was still beautiful, but that air of innocence had gone, replaced with a worldliness that made her even more….desirable. He couldn't believe she was still living with the chauffeur. He thought she would have come to her senses by now and come back to the world of Downton - a soiled but tempting angel. He felt the bile rise in his throat - nothing to do with the alcohol consumed last night, but rather the scorn Sybil had shown him. She was practically living in the gutter with the chauffeur, yet she still thought she could talk to him like that. He thought back on what he had done last night and convinced himself that she had deserved it. Any woman who gave up her place in society for a bit of rough had to be fair game.

A sorry mess of self-justification, he made his way slowly to the door and slipped out into the bachelor's corridor. No one was about, so quietly he made his way towards the main staircase. He'd almost reached the top of the stairs when a small child in a white nightgown came flying round the corner.

Larry stopped. There was no doubting who the father of this child was. Her hair may be the same colour as Sybil's, but it was as fine and straight as her features were wide and curious. She stopped in her tracks as well and took in his dishevelled appearance with her pale blue eyes.

"Are you a robber ?" she enquired, seemingly unconcerned by the possibility.

Even her brat looks like him, he thought, as a wave or nausea and spite hit him. It seemed as if Sybil's rejection of him was total and complete.

"Get out of my way," he spat under his breath, but loudly enough for Niamh to hear. She shrank away from him and called out in alarm for her Mama, who swiftly appeared around the corner moments later with her other child on her hip.

"Niamh ! Come here !" she called urgently, bending and extending her hand to her daughter. The child ran to her mother, taking her hand and cowering behind her. "Don't be scared, darling - it's just Larry."

Sybil looked at him, conscious that her dressing gown was loosely wrapped around her and was open at the front, exposing the top of a white lace nightdress. He made her want to wrap it tighter around herself, but her hands were full.

"Larry." she began cautiously.

"Sybil"

She stood holding her children fast, barefoot on the soft carpet with her chin up defiantly, like some sort of renaissance muse. He felt grubby and unkempt. An uncomfortable silence followed.

"Aren't you going to apologise for last night ?" she asked.

The resentment bubbled within him again and he gave her a cold smile that revealed too many teeth.

"Oh, come on," he laughed insincerely, "nothing happened that you're not used to after living in Ireland."

Sybil's eyes widened and she gasped, tightening the hold on her children. It took her a moment to recover her power of speech.

"Get out of here, Larry."

He tipped his head at her, a mockery of good manners.

"Goodbye, Sybil."

She watched him as he descended the stairs and crossed the salon to the front door. He didn't look back.

Sybil had intended taking the children back to the nursery, but Larry had left her feel unwillingly vulnerable. She needed to see Tom.

"Come on," she said to her daughters brightly, "let's go and see Daddy"

* * *

The three of them slipped into her bedroom quietly, and with good reason, as Tom was still fast asleep. Niamh broke away from her mother and ran to the bed, about to try and climb in, when Sybil stopped her.

"Come round the other side, love," she instructed, pushing her gently in the direction of her own side of the bed.

Quietly, she helped Niamh clamber under the blankets, then followed her and settled Aoife on her lap. She returned to the book they had been reading, keeping her voice low and the children from fidgeting too much. Tom moved in his sleep, a sure sign that he had registered their presence at some level. Back in the fortress of her bed, sharing Tom's space, she felt secure again. Niamh had forgotten Larry already and Aoife had hardly registered him in the first place. There was a groan beside her and she turned to see Tom's sleep-addled face raised off the pillow, his hair falling into his eyes.

"What time is it ?" he croaked.

"Almost six thirty."

He collapsed face down on the pillow in disgust.

"Oh God….. What are the children doing here ?"

"_Someone_…" Sybil indicated Aoife who was sitting contentedly on her lap, "was having a tantrum…"

"Why didn't you stay in the nursery ?"

"Niamh wanted to wake you up….and then we ran into Larry…"

"What ?"

His eyes flew open and he was wide awake, the thought of Larry Grey anywhere near his children wrenching him into full consciousness.

"It's alright, Tom, he's gone…he was just leaving."

"Did he say anything to you ?"

"Not really." The lie came unbidden and easily.

She felt Tom looking at her, not sure if he completely believed her. But if he didn't, he was obviously prepared to let her keep what happened to herself for the moment. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to feel the connection between them, but Niamh had realised her father was awake and was busy wriggling herself into the crook of his arm. He allowed her in, instinctively drawing his arm around her protectively and pulling her close to his chest and kissing the top of her head, smiling unconsciously as he did so. Sybil's heart flipped in her chest.

Larry's refusal to apologise had shocked her, not just because he felt no shame, but because his words held a kernel of truth. She had witnessed men treating women in a similar fashion before - in the hospital during the war and in pubs in Dublin, but never this close to home. Women would appear on the wards where she worked sometimes, beaten black and blue by a husband or a client - men who thought women were there for nothing more than their own amusement. It had taken very little for Larry to stop treating her as a lady. Tom, on the other hand, would treat the working girls of Monto with the same respect he treated his wife. So would Matthew, and, she knew, the men in Tom's family. She wondered what made Larry and men of his ilk different, as it was clearly not as simple as a matter of class. Her father's view of women might not be as progressive as her husband's, but he would never behave the way Larry had. She'd been fortunate, she supposed. She'd grown up amongst good men, and she'd married the best of them. Her own daughters would grow up respected and encouraged to live life to its fullest, thanks to the man their father was.

Aoife wriggled impatiently in her lap, wanting another story. Tom had drifted back to sleep and Niamh was on the verge of doing the same. She had no idea what stars had aligned to make Tom so emphatically himself, but she thought herself very lucky that they had. By the evening, they would be back in Manchester and Larry would have dipped over the horizon of their lives. But Sybil would remember him and silently thank the same stars that she married the man she did.

* * *

**A/N: **The poems Sybil is reading are _Disobedience_ and _The King's Breakfast _from _When We Were Very Young_ by A A Milne, which was published in 1925.

_Next Up: Later that day..._


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Thanks again for all the feedback ! This was supposed to be the last chapter, but it sort of got away from me. So it isn't :-)

* * *

In the end, Tom had fallen back into a deep sleep, but Niamh only dozed for another half an hour, during which Aoife sat placidly with Sybil engrossed in the book. Within minutes of waking, her older sister had struggled out of Tom's grasp and interrupted them, demanding that Aoife move so that she could see too, pushing her back towards her mother. This upset Aoife, who proceeded to show her displeasure by leaning forward to smack her sister. Niamh cried out and hit back, clenching her little fist and hitting Aoife on the arm. Aoife wailed, but stood her ground and raised her arm to smack her sister again. Niamh tried to shove her; Aoife shoved back. One of Niamh's flailing feet caught Tom squarely in the ribs several times as she scrabbled between her parents, eliciting a grunt. He was wrenched from sleep to find his bed a battleground of angry childish voices and limbs as the sisters fought, with Sybil valiantly trying to separate them.

"What …..for goodness sake, will you stop it, you two ! What do you think you are doing ?! "

Raising his voice angrily to both of the children made Niamh freeze and Aoife start to cry. Sybil scolded him for shouting and he snapped back at her for bringing them into their bed in the first place. She then pointed out that she had been up with _his_ children since before six, whilst he had been blissfully asleep, to which he replied rather acerbically that he couldn't see why they could not have just stayed in the nursery. Sybil shook her head at him in exasperation, as if he'd just suggested abandoning their children.

"Honestly, Tom, sometimes…."

"What ?' he asked incredulously.

She said nothing, but then, she didn't need to, just setting her mouth in a firm line whilst she tried to soothe her youngest daughter. Tom shrugged his shoulders huffily, turned over and put the pillow over his head. Scowling at his back, she got both girls out of bed and marched them back to the nursery.

By the time she got back a quarter of an hour later, Sybil was feeling worn out - and no one else in the family was even awake yet. Tom had gone back to sleep again, for which she was thankful as she was in no mood to talk to him. She slipped in beside him and lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes, deciding that after the morning she'd had, she would take advantage of her prerogative as a married woman and indulge in breakfast in bed - on her own.

At eight o'clock, Lily brought in tea for them and drew the curtains. As usual, Lady Sybil was awake and Mr Branson was asleep, or pretending to be. It was no secret downstairs that the former chauffeur had never come to terms with his bedroom being invaded in the morning, even to be brought tea in bed. When the couple would first visit, he would be up and either fully dressed or in his heavy dressing gown. Nowadays he feigned sleep with his back to his wife until the maid had gone away. Very occasionally, Lily knew, whoever brought their tea would find them wrapped around each other, fast asleep. On those occasions, he would start awake, looking guilty, as if he had been caught somewhere he shouldn't be. Lady Sybil didn't seem to care. Anna said it had taken Mr Matthew a few months to get used to being found in Lady Mary's bed, but then, Lily supposed, he'd never worked with the person doing the finding.

Sybil thanked Lily and answered her questions about the ball, pouring herself a cup of tea whilst she did so. She wasn't sure whether Tom really was asleep or just pretending - either way, she figured, he could help himself to his own tea this morning.

It seemed as if he was feinting. As soon as Lily shut the door, he grunted and turned over to look at his wife sat sipping her tea. She looked tired and tense.

"Are the girls alright ?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes," she replied coldly, refusing to turn and look at him. When Sybil was angry with him, she reverted to type and became Lady Sybil rather than Mrs Branson. He found it strangely erotic. He reached under the blanket to stroke the outside of her thigh with the back of a finger. She simply moved it away.

"Sybil…."

"You'd better get up or else you'll be late for breakfast."

He sighed. He knew she was annoyed with him, but he was damned if he was going to apologise for a stupid spat for which they had been equally at fault. He tried to be conciliatory one more.

"Aren't you coming down ?" he asked as sweetly as he could.

"No."

"I'm not sure I particularly want breakfast. Not with your father and Edith and Rose, after last night…."

"You have to. You can't leave Matthew to deal with that on his own." she said pointedly.

She was determined to punish him.

"Can't I share your breakfast ?" he said, trying to flirt with her.

"No." She didn't even look up.

He gave up.

* * *

Robert, Matthew and Edith were already seated at the breakfast table by the time Tom joined them. Being tired and preoccupied generally robbed him of his appetite, so he contented himself with tea and toast. Robert put down his copy of The Times and eyed his plate with amusement.

"Are you feeling alright this morning ? "

Tom looked up, surprised out of his own ruminations.

"What ? Oh ! Yes, yes, fine, thank you," he stuttered.

Edith and Matthew shared a look and smirked at each other.

"Is Sybil joining us ?" asked Matthew

Tom frowned a little at the mention of his wife.

"No. She decided to have breakfast in bed," he smiled politely.

"Lucky Sybil," said Edith wistfully, "not having to get up."

"Well, when you are a married woman, you can have breakfast in bed," said Robert from behind his newspaper.

Edith gritted her teeth and put her fork down.

"You know that isn't going to happen, Papa. Not until…until Michael is free."

"And God knows when that will be," muttered Robert, shaking out the paper.

"Does it matter, Papa ? Really ?"

Robert looked shocked. Tom and Matthew looked at each other nervously. They had the distinct impression that the two of them were merely picking up where they had left off the night before.

"Does it matter that my daughter is living in sin with a married man ? Of course it matters !"

"But why ?" Edith cried, her voice rising. "Why should it matter to anyone else apart from Michael and myself ? It's 1925, Papa. Nobody cares who's married to whom any more."

"It matters," began Robert grimly, "because you are making this family everyone's favourite topic of conversation. I can only be thankful that both your sisters are already married….."

"So that's it. You care more about the family reputation that your own daughter's happiness."

To everyone's surprise, Robert relented a little.

"I don't, as a matter of fact. Your sisters saw to that," he said, shooting Tom a look. "but you have to understand that you are in a very vulnerable position, Edith. If anything happens to Gregson, you will be left with nothing. And what is going to happen if there is a child ? You'll have no rights if he decides to break with you."

Unwittingly, Robert appeared to have hit on a sensitive subject as Edith choked down a sob, screwed her napkin in a ball and flung it on the table.

"You don't need to worry on that score, Papa," she said, pushing her chair back. "There won't be a child. Sybil's seen to that." And with that she stormed out of the room.

"Sybil …? What has Sybil…." He turned back to Tom, giving him a disapproving look.

"What did she mean ? Have you two been encouraging Edith in this fiasco ?"

Tom took a deep breath and looked at Matthew, who raised a rueful eyebrow. They both baulked at the thought of having a conversation about modern methods of family planning with their father-in-law, especially over the breakfast table. Tom felt Carson's outraged stare on the back of his collar.

"Edith merely asked Sybil's advice …."

Tom had never been so pleased to see Rose in his life. She swept into the dining room, smiling at everyone, suspiciously cheerful.

"Good morning !" she exclaimed, heading straight for Carson and the empty plates, answered only by a chorus of silence and uncomfortable looks. She stopped and surveyed the three men round the table,

"Crikey - what have I missed ?"

"Sit down, Rose," said Robert wearily.

Rose helped herself to a hearty breakfast and took a seat opposite Tom.

"Is Sybil coming down ?" she asked in between mouthfuls of scrambled egg.

Tom shook his head.

"No, she's having breakfast in bed."

"Lucky her," said Rose. "Has anyone seen Larry this morning ?"

"Larry ?" asked Robert, alarmed. "Why should anyone have seen Larry this morning ?"

"Oh ! I thought you all knew. Sybil and Tom found him drunk last night and put him upstairs to sleep it off."

Robert looked accusingly at Tom for the second time that morning.

"And you didn't think to tell me ?" he asked

"Sybil told Lady Grantham," he offered by way of an apology.

"Did you know about this ?" Robert asked Matthew.

Matthew rubbed his forehead.

"Ah, yes, I did ….."

Robert surveyed the younger members of his family in disbelief.

"Sometimes I feel as if I haven't got a clue what goes on in my own house," he complained.

"Larry left early this morning," put in Tom, trying to divert Robert's attention. "Sybil saw him go."

"What on earth was Sybil doing up so early ?"

"She was up with the girls," he said.

Robert rolled his eyes.

"We employ a Nanny. I don't know why Sybil doesn't let her do her job. She's not a nurserymaid."

"No," said Tom, bristling. "She's their mother."

"And I suppose you think that means she has to do everything for them. I do wish you'd get a Nanny, Tom, or let us pay for one."

"Thank you for your kind offer, Lord Grantham, but we have all the help we need."

"A girl," said Robert dismissively. "And you expect Sybil to look after the children as well as hold down her job. She wasn't brought up to look after small children."

"I don't _expect_ Sybil to do anything. She _wants_ to look after our children herself. She's a wonderful mother," he said heatedly.

Rose, sensing a fight brewing, pitched in on Tom's side.

"They're adorable little girls," she said.

"Thank you," said Tom stiffly.

"When they're not misbehaving," commented Robert picking up his paper again.

Tom opened his mouth to protest, but Matthew leapt to his nieces' defence.

"Oh, come on, Robert, they're no more boisterous that George and Peter."

"It wasn't George or Peter that broke Mama's tea bowl in the Japanese room."

"That was an accident," said Tom, blushing. "Niamh tripped."

"She shouldn't have been in the Japanese room in the first place !"

"Well, George is as much to blame for that," said Matthew prosaically, "Niamh only went in there because George stole her doll and hid it. Nanny had lost track of them _both_. And anyway," he continued, "Cousin Violet said that tea bowl was a fake."

Robert looked at the three of them over the top of his newspaper.

"It seems, Carson, that I am in the minority when it comes to children's behaviour."

"Sadly, it would appear so, your Lordship."

* * *

After breakfast, Tom returned to their bedroom, only to find it empty. He then wandered up to the nursery, assuming that that was where he would find Sybil, but he found only Nanny, who was getting Peter and George ready for church. Sybil had taken the girls out for a walk, which meant she was still cross. Realising she could have taken them anywhere on the estate, he felt uncharacteristically at a loss. He contemplated returning to the library and filling some time with a book, but he knew his father-in-law would be there attending to his correspondence. In the end, he decided to go down to the garage and see if he could locate the source of the unhealthy sounds that the Austin had been making recently. Pratt was at church with the family, so it was an excellent opportunity to make use of some of his Lordship's tools.

Their utilitarian Austin Seven looked small and inelegant parked beside the Earl's vehicles, but it meant a lot to Tom and his family. Sybil had been so excited when they bought it, seeing not a mass produced car, but an agent of freedom. He removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and searched around for what he would need. The garage felt familiar, a reminder of times when his life seemed so complicated and yet in retrospect, was so very simple. He was the chauffeur trying to woo the Earl's daughter, not a man trying to balance the responsibilities of his family, his job, his principles and the expectations of his wife's family. He lifted the bonnet and stared down at the familiar convolution of valves and pistons that made up the engine. The very action of doing so lifted a weight off his shoulders and brought a smile to his face. This was a problem he was confident of fixing.

Sybil had dressed the girls in their best coats, put their shoes on and had taken them to the stables to see the horses. It was beginning to dawn on her that Niamh and Aoife were growing up as city children and that cows and sheep were almost as exotic to them as lions and tigers had been to her. For Niamh, a horse was a mean spirited animal found between the shafts of the coalman's cart or the milkman's float - Sybil wanted to show her something different. Dragon was by this time in his dotage, but she was still fond of him, so she had started taking the girls down to see him every time they were there. She also sometimes took them to watch George and Peter on their fat little shetland ponies. Robert had recently offered to get ponies for the girls, but Niamh was reluctant and Sybil felt Aoife too young.

She was showing Niamh how to give Dragon a peppermint, keeping her daughter's fingers flat whilst the horse nuzzled her hand, when she was surprised to see Rose enter the yard in full riding kit and hail Lynch. She didn't look to be in a good mood. After requesting a mount, she saw Sybil and strolled over unhurriedly.

"Hello," she smiled at the girls, "what are you all doing here ?"

"We've come to see Dragon," said Niamh, "and give him a sweetie."

"Don't let Lynch see you," whispered Rose, conspiratorially, "otherwise he'll be cross."

Sybil smiled at her daughter, letting her know Rose was joking and that she wouldn't be in trouble with the fusty old groom.

"I could ask you the same thing," she said. "I thought everyone had gone to church."

Rose sighed.

"I just wanted to get away. I wanted to go into Ripon later to say goodbye to Jack and the rest of the band, but Uncle Robert has refused to let Pratt take me. So seeing as I am effectively stuck in Downton I thought I'd get some exercise. Are you not going to Mass ?" she asked.

Sybil shook her head, turning to keep an eye on Aoife, who was standing like a ramrod watching the unfamiliar activity in the yard with rapt attention.

"No, we need to head back to Manchester soon. There's not really time to trail into Ripon and back. We both have to go to work tomorrow and Niamh has school so I don't want to stay too late. We'll go this evening."

Rose shifted her weight onto one foot absent-mindedly and wrapped her arms around her middle.

"Your life sounds so busy. Being married and having a job…."

"You can say that again," laughed Sybil.

"I can't imagine it. Sometimes the days here seem to go on forever. And nothing much happens. Its nearly as bad as Duneagle."

"I can remember what that felt like," said her cousin with some sympathy. "That's one of the reasons why I became a nurse."

"I think I'd like a job," said Rose, pulling at a thread on the cuff of her jacket, "but I don't know what. Our sort of life doesn't teach you how to do anything useful."

"Then make it your business to learn."

Rose looked up, surprised by her cousin's response.

"Learn what ?"

"Honestly, Rose, there are so many things a young woman can do nowadays. You could be a doctor, or a lawyer like Matthew, or a journalist like Tom, or …..I don't know,…..go to university…"

"I'm not clever enough to do any of those things."

"Well, what would you like to do ? You surely don't want to spend your life doing the season and just going to parties ?"

Rose thought for a while.

"I'd like to be a photographer," she said. "For a magazine - like Vogue or The Queen…."

Now it was Sybil's turn to be surprised.

"Really ? I didn't know you were interested in taking pictures !"

"Oh, yes - especially of people. I think I have taken everyone's photograph on the estate."

Sybil noticed a glint of enthusiasm in Rose's features that she'd never seen before, or at least, not without the prospect of a party.

"Are you any good ?"

Rose shrugged.

"I don't really know. Probably not."

Sybil gave her a smile.

"You should talk to Edith," she said, "Show her some of your photographs. Ask if you can visit her at The Sketch."

Rose's face lit up.

"Do you think she would ? Honestly ?"

"I'm sure she would only be too happy to help you."

"I don't know…..," Rose frowned, suddenly unsure of herself, "they're just snaps - I'm sure Mama and Papa would think it a silly idea…."

"I'm sure they would," Sybil laughed, "but then my Mama and Papa thought nursing was a silly idea and you have no idea what they had to say about marrying Tom. So I wouldn't let that stop you," she said firmly, "if you don't do it, you'll never know. And what have you got to lose ?"

Rose gave her a grateful smile, then paused, tentatively.

"Were they really terribly against it ?"

"The nursing ?"

"No. Marrying Tom."

Sybil drew a deep breath.

"Tom was the chauffeur. What do you think ?"

Rose nodded, finding it easy to imagine exactly what her Uncle and Aunt had had to say about the situation.

"They seem to have come round to him," she commented

"Mostly," said Sybil, "Mama is very fond of him, but whilst Papa likes him, I don't think he can ever quite forget where he comes from."

"He's nice,"

Sybil gave a small sigh, thinking about the argument they'd had earlier that morning. She hadn't told Tom what Larry had said to her. If she had, he wouldn't have been annoyed about the girls being there. She wondered why she hated showing her vulnerabilities, even to him.

"Yes," she replied simply, "he is."

* * *

_Next Up: Time for the Bransons to go home..._


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **So this is the final chapter of this story. Although maybe, just maybe there will be an epilogue :-)

* * *

Edith came down the stairs with her small suitcase packed and her coat over one arm, her hat already on. She'd closeted herself in her room whilst everyone had filed out to church, fending off enquires with an excuse that she was tired. She may not be a married woman, she thought, but at least she could have some independence.

She'd sent a message to Pratt to bring her roadster round the back of the house before he took the family to church. It was going to be easy to slip away unnoticed - something her father would no doubt be grateful for, she thought bitterly.

She was crossing the salon when the door to the library opened and the man himself emerged. He seemed surprised to see her and even more surprised to see the coat and suitcase.

"You're leaving ? I thought you were staying till Tuesday ?"

She shook her head.

"I decided to go home."

"Without saying goodbye ?"

Refusing to be softened by his apparent disappointment, she gripped the suitcase a little tighter, holding it between herself and her father like a lowered shield.

"Yes, well, I didn't think you'd be worried about that,"

"Edith," said Robert reproachfully, "I know we've had our differences, but how can you think that ? Of course I worry about you. I never stop worrying about you."

"About what people are saying about me"

"Yes - but not in the way you think. I worry about what it must be doing to you."

Edith's face was a mask. Robert realised he had lost the ability to read his middle daughter years ago.

"Well, you needn't bother. I don't care what people say."

"It can't be very pleasant for you." He gave a sigh, a sound that was almost an admission of defeat. "I just want you to be happy, Edith. But it seems I no longer know what makes my girls happy. So I worry instead."

He looked so unsure of himself that it made Edith feel equally lost. Her face crumpled and she dissolved into tears. Robert opened his arms to her as he had done when she was a small child, and she leant into him, letting him pull her into his embrace.

"Oh, Papa !"

She's so slight, he thought, how can she possibly shoulder all that difficulty ? Mary had her ruthless streak and Sybil her toughness, but Edith ? He'd always thought Edith so brittle.

He felt her sniffle into his shoulder.

"You don't have to, Papa. I _am_ happy, really. I know I probably shouldn't be, but I am. It's a different world in London. You should come and see us, then maybe you'd understand."

He gave her a guarded smile.

"Well. Maybe I will."

He let her go and she returned his smile, both knowing that he probably wouldn't. But Edith was grateful for the lie.

"Now - stay for lunch at least. Your Mama would never forgive me if I let you go without saying goodbye to her."

* * *

Tom was so absorbed in trying to tighten a deeply buried nut that he missed the sound of the approaching vehicle until it had stopped outside the garage.

"Mr Branson ! I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realise…"

"Oh ! No, it me that should apologise, Mr Pratt. I just wanted to take a look at the Austin. I hope you don't mind."

Pratt smiled dutifully, although Tom suspected he hated having his work space invaded. He knew he would have done.

"Not at all, sir."

Pratt fell into a typical pose of service. Tom wished he would relax, but given that he had been Pratt's senior even when he was working here, that was unlikely. He wiped his hands on a rag.

"Is the family back from church, then ?"

"The family came back half an hour ago, Mr Branson. I've just fetched the Dowager for lunch."

"Goodness, is that the time ?"

Tom's eyes widened in alarm. He was in enough trouble with Sybil as it was, without keeping everyone waiting for luncheon. He hastily rolled down his sleeves and pulled on his jacket. There was oil underneath his fingernails, but he would have to beg Mrs Patmore's indulgence and scrub them clean in the scullery. Bidding Pratt a good afternoon, he hurried back to the house, going in via the kitchen rather than walking all the way round to the main doors.

It was bustling downstairs, even though it was only the family having a light Sunday lunch. Isobel had come back with them from church and the Dowager had arrived shortly after. With a nursery lunch to prepare, as well as a box of small treats for the younger Bransons to enliven the journey back home and a larger hamper of grown up treats from the estate for their parents, Mrs Patmore had plenty to occupy her attention.

Of all the downstairs staff, Mrs Patmore was the one who had had least trouble with Tom's move upstairs. It made not the slightest difference to her whether he was the chauffeur or Lady Sybil's husband; if he was in her kitchen, he was _in the way. _

"What in the name of God are you doing, Mr Branson ?" she asked, finding him in her scullery with his shirt sleeves rolled up and a bar of carbolic soap in his hands.

Tom dropped the soap in surprise and turned guiltily, although why he should feel guilty he had no idea.

"I'm just scrubbing my hands, Mrs Patmore. I was in the garage and….."

"Don't they have bathrooms upstairs ? Or do you just enjoy littering up the scullery and getting under Ivy's feet ?"

"Oh, he's been no trouble, Mrs Patmore…." began Ivy. She was rather in awe of this chauffeur turned gentleman,

"I'll be the judge of that, thank you, Ivy. I'd appreciate it, Mr Branson, if you could make your ablutions in one of the family bathrooms and not in my kitchen."

"I was only ….."

"What is going on ?" Mrs Patmore's raised voice had summoned the butler. "I might have known," he muttered disapprovingly when he saw Tom. "Mr Branson, is there a problem with Lady Sybil's bathroom ?"

Tom looked from Mrs Patmore to Mr Carson and back again. Now he was going to be in trouble for upsetting the staff. Today was really not turning out to be a very good day.

"I…."

Two stony faces looked back at him, ready to be unimpressed with any excuse he might proffer. He rolled down his sleeves and reached for his jacket.

"I'll get out of your way. Is Sybil back from her walk ?"

"_Lady _Sybil is in the library with the rest of the family. Luncheon will be served in ten minutes."

He gave them a small apologetic smile and hurried upstairs, conscious that they were watching him go.

"Whatever next ?" asked Mr Carson, raising his eyebrows.

"I'm sure I don't know, Mr Carson, but I'll thank you to make sure it doesn't happen in my kitchen. Lady Sybil I can put up with - she's always so grateful, but I'll not tolerate stray men in my scullery !"

* * *

Sybil was sitting with Isobel when he entered the library. She looked up briefly and gave him a fleeting, tentative smile, but his attention was claimed by Robert before he could see if it meant anything.

"Oh there you are, Tom. Everyone wondered where you had disappeared to,"

"I was in the garage," he said with a small smile. Whenever the whole family's attention was turned on him, he still found it difficult not to feel as if he were being sized up and found wanting.

"It seems that old habits die hard," remarked Violet.

"The Austin needed looking at so I took the opportunity." he said stiffly.

His father-in-law sighed.

"Why on earth didn't you get Pratt to have a look at it yesterday ?"

"Mr Pratt was busy yesterday and I didn't want to give him any more work. It was just as easy to do it myself."

"And Tom's a better mechanic than Pratt," said Matthew, smiling. "If I had his skill I wouldn't let Pratt within ten feet of my car."

"You're quite happy to let him look after the Morgan"

"That's only because we don't have any other option."

Tom thought he saw Sybil give a rather smug smirk out of the corner of his eye, but her thoughts were diverted by Cora addressing her.

"Did you have a nice walk with the girls ?"

"Yes," she smiled, "we went to see Dragon and ran into Rose."

"Where is Rose ?" asked Isobel. "Did she enjoy herself last night ?"

"Rose is sulking," said Mary, quirking an eyebrow, "and I think you'll find that she enjoyed herself rather too much last night."

Carson came in to announce lunch was served before she could elaborate and conversation moved on. As usual, Tom found himself seated as far away as possible from his wife. He heard Sybil tell her mother that they had planned to leave soon after lunch and that she had asked Nanny to bring the girls down to the drawing room to see Isobel and Granny before they left. They would have no chance to speak privately until they got in the car.

After lunch, Sybil was claimed by Violet as they filed back to the drawing room. Tom found himself bringing up the rear with Matthew, who was asking him if he'd heard any rumours of a miners' strike. He tried to give Matthew his full attention - after all, the future of the estate was increasingly reliant on Matthew's financial acumen - but he couldn't help glance across at Sybil every so often. She was answering her grandmother's questions about the children gravely, her hands resting one upon the other in her lap and her ankles neatly crossed, knees together. She never sits like that at home, he thought - when she sits down at all. She's usually slouched on one of the chairs in the kitchen, or sat on our sofa with her feet tucked under her or with one of the children on her lap. This neat, contained, constricted Sybil was a woman from a different world. It never ceased to amaze him how she could resurrect her at the flick of a switch.

They were just finishing their coffee when the door opened to revel Nanny, hand in hand with Niamh and Aoife.

"Daddy !" Aoife ran to her father and tried to pull herself up on the sofa beside him as she would do at home. It was an inelegant scramble, her little dress riding up and displaying her knickers for all to see. He caught Violet raising her eyebrows skyward.

"Good Lord !" she commented to Isobel in amusement. Isobel merely smiled at him as he reached down to pull Aoife up onto his lap, only for her to slide off immediately to sit beside him on the sofa.

"Well I think it's lovely to see a little girl go straight to her father. She's an independent little creature," she said, turning back to Sybil.

"They both are," his wife replied.

Niamh had gone to her mother, who made a space beside her. She knew that the drawing room was for grown-ups, so she looked around cautiously, a little overawed. Isobel asked her about school and she gave her shy answers carefully, helped by Sybil's quiet encouragement. Tom kept Aoife tucked into his side as she sat, wide-eyed at having the attention of so many people. He was just thankful that they seemed to be behaving themselves.

After a short while, conversation started to drift back towards adult topics and over the children's heads. Aoife was strangely content, happy to stare at the footmen, but Niamh soon became restless, fidgeting in her seat and interrupting her mother. Such behaviour earned her a stern look from Violet.

"A Lady," she chastised, " sits _still_, Niamh."

Niamh looked at her uncomprehendingly.

"But I'm not a lady," she frowned, "I'm a little girl."

The younger members of the family and even Cora had to smile at her logic. But the meaning was not lost on Violet. To Niamh, a lady was simply an adult - her aunts and her mother were ladies, as was her grandmother, but then so was Nanny and Anna and her teacher at school.

"I see that you believe that socialism begins at home," Violet observed, looking at Tom.

He and Sybil exchanged looks. She arched a meaningful eyebrow at him, a half smile on her face and he found he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Indeed I do, Lady Grantham," he offered cheerfully.

Sybil's smile widened into a conspiratorial grin. And just like that, they were friends again. He felt everything inside him right itself as grinned back at her.

"Isis !"

Aoife's cry made everyone look round to see the door open and Isis precede her master. She trotted over to where Aoife was sitting and flopped expectantly beneath her feet. A canny dog, she had learnt in the last few years that small children were often to be found with food, which frequently ended up on the floor. Niamh slithered from her seat to flop beside her whilst her sister leaned over the arm of the chair, peering down. Tom unconsciously tightened his grip.

"All finished ?" asked Cora.

"Thankfully, yes. Murray is coming to collect the will tomorrow. It's odd how things work out," he said thoughtfully, "all that fuss we went through with the entail and then an Act of Parliament makes it all immaterial." He looked over fondly to his eldest daughter and his heir. "I'm so glad you two are married. I would be in a very awkward position today if not - having to choose between leaving Downton to my heir or my daughter. Niamh, don't do that to Isis, she doesn't like it."

"But …"

"Come back here and sit down, darling," said her mother.

As she was getting up and trailing back to her seat, Tom lifted her sister back on his lap, allowing Robert to sit down. Aoife squirmed with indignation in his grasp, pouting at her grandfather for denying her her seat.

"No !" she protested.

"Aoife, keep still, love" said Tom, trying to wrestle her into sitting.

What happened next astounded everyone. Aoife raised her hand, leant forward and smacked Robert's thigh as hard as she could.

Robert was momentarily stunned. He looked at the small child in Tom's lap, her round face and dark hair very reminiscent of her mother at the same age - and was surprised at the rage he saw there. This child indended having her own way. When he didn't move, Aoife leant forward again and raised her fist. Tom made a grab for it, but she was too quick for him and she smacked Robert again.

"Aoife !" her father cried, aghast. "Stop that this minute !" He tried to corral her writhing body in his arms and looked across desperately at Sybil, who gasped, mortified by her daughter's performance.

"Heavens ! Who would have thought to find such revolutionary zeal in one so young !" said Violet, raising her eyebrows.

"Robert, do get up !" admonished his wife. "You're upsetting her !"

Robert did as he was bid and Tom reluctantly let go of his daughter so that she could slither back in her seat, scolding her as he did so. She gazed at her aunts and uncle (who were amused) and grandparents (who were not), totally unrepentant.

"Aoife's being naughty," announced Niamh in a stage whisper.

"Yes, thank you, Niamh," Sybil replied wearily. She had a feeling what had just happened would be going down in the family history books, forever brought up and discussed at the dinner table at family gatherings for years to come. She smiled weakly at Tom. They would never live this down.

Bemused by what had just happened, Robert looked down at Aoife, the chauffeur's daughter who had just literally robbed the seventh Earl of Grantham of his seat. Only two years old, she was a such a distillation of ferocity that she made Robert heartily glad he was her grandfather and not her father. He felt a sudden wave of sympathy for his daughter and her husband. They had no idea what they were in for.

It seemed an appropriate time for the Bransons to take their leave. The car had been brought round and their luggage, along with the hamper, had been stowed in the boot. In the salon, Sybil put her daughters into their coats again, kneeling to help them with their buttons. They were taking their leave of everyone with an open invitation to Manchester and promises to visit Downton and London again very soon when Rose reappeared.

"You're going already ?"

Sybil nodded.

"Yes, I really think we must."

Rose's face lit up.

"Wait !" she cried, "you can wait a minute, can't you ? Let me go and get my camera and take a picture of you all."

"Rose, let them go," said Cora.

"No, its all right, Mama," said Sybil, thinking of the conversation she's had with Rose earlier, "it won't take long."

Rose came running down the stairs a few minutes later with her new camera, an expensive gift from her parents. She chivvied everyone outside and organised the Bransons with Tom and Sybil side by side, Tom holding Aoife and Niamh standing in front of Sybil. She had them shuffle about a little until she was happy with the shot and then, smiling in satisfaction, declared it finished.

All that remained were final embraces, good wishes and instructions to drive carefully and for Sybil to write to her mother later that week. She climbed into the back seat of the car, settled her daughters and said her final goodbyes. As the car drew away down the drive, they waved until the people standing outside the house were too indistinct to be seen properly. Any temptation Sybil had to look back and watch the house where she grew up disappear from view was removed by the immediate necessity of finding Niamh's doll. By the time that particular crisis had been averted, they were in the village, heading for home.

* * *

The picture Rose took turned out rather well as a family portrait. She gave it to her Aunt, who had it put in a very modern Deco silver frame ordered expressly for the purpose from Tiffany's. She placed it on the drawing room table, along with similar photographs of herself and Robert with their daughters, Mary's wedding and her grandsons. The Bransons stared out into the drawing room, looking every inch the hard-working, middle class family that the Crawleys thought them to be.

But Rose had taken another picture immediately after the first. It arrived in the post several days after their visit in a stiff brown envelope. Tom had already gone to work, so Sybil opened it before she went to the hospital. It made her smile. After her shift, she made a short detour into the centre of Manchester to purchase a plain black wooden frame and put the photograph in it when she got back. She put it in their bedroom on top of the chest of drawers, next to their only photograph of their wedding. She could see why Rose had not given it to her mother, but she loved it. She had caught Tom in the act of leaning over to Sybil, his hand disappearing behind her back and a crooked smile on his face. She in turn was leaning in to him, smiling broadly at whatever he had just said, her eyes trained on his face expectantly. Niamh had turned around to watch whatever it was her parents were doing, her dark hair falling in her eyes just the way her father's did. The only person still looking at the camera was Aoife, who had put her fist to her mouth and was staring at the lens coyly, all trace of the little demon of a few minutes ago disappeared.

She was admiring it when she felt a pair of familiar arms encircle her waist and the smell of Tom's office - pipe smoke and newsprint - envelope her. He leaned over her shoulder and rubbed his rough, stubbled chin against her cheek. She rocked back on her heels, letting him take some of her weight.

"Mmmmmm. I didn't hear you come in…..you need a shave," she laughed gently, reaching up to stroke his jaw.

For an answer, he moved his chin from her cheek to the exposed skin at the back of her neck. She yelped and he drew her tighter, kissing the top of her head.

"What's this ?" he asked, reaching out to turn the photograph slightly towards them.

She found the hand still at her waist and covered it with her own, holding it fast.

"It's our family."

* * *

_Next up : I think the temptation to write an epilogue is going to be just too great to resist !_


	9. Epilogue - Part 1

**A/N**: Thanks once again for all the feedback on this story ! So here's the epilogue - or part one of it, at any rate, as yet again, this story has taken on a life of its own...

* * *

Sybil flung her hand to her forehead to try and still the blood she could hear throbbing though her brain. Her heart was pounding and her breath was coming in desperate gasps that made her chest rise and collapse under the sheet.

"Oh my God !" she groaned.

Tom lay sprawled like a rag doll beside her. There was a sheen of sweat on his skin from his exertions and all he seemed capable of at that precise moment was lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. He could barely smile.

"I would love to know," he panted when he could, "what it is about weddings that makes you so randy !"

She rolled over to face him, bringing the sheet with her.

"I don't know," she grinned, still trying to catch her breath whilst she propped herself up on one elbow, "perhaps it takes me back to our wedding night. Or perhaps its the sight of you in a morning suit."

"I'm not wearing a morning suit this time. And our wedding night wasn't exactly our finest hour…"

"No, but it was still lovely," she said, throwing an arm around him and shuffling closer. He put a hand behind his head so she could rest hers on his shoulder. "And it was much nicer than I was expecting. But you're right, though. We did get better."

He smiled, still unable to tear his eyes away from the ceiling.

"Although, if you had told me in the first years of our marriage that it would be even better now, I don't think I would have believed you."

"Why ?" he asked, looking down at her.

"I suppose I didn't think we'd still be this…energetic."

He let out a loud laugh.

"That's one way of putting it," he said. "But then, like I tell my juniors, there's nothing to beat a bit of experience."

"A bit ?' she asked, raising a flirty eyebrow.

"Well, alright. Eighteen years of experience. I suppose we ought to be good at it by now."

"Yes, but darling, there's good and there is _good_."

The familiar smug lopsided smile spread across his face, just as she expected. She poked him in the ribs.

"It's not all down to you, you know !"

They laughed together and he rolled over to face her, pulling her closer to him.

"Do you suppose its normal ?' she asked.

"What is ?"

"To still be so enthusiastic at our age."

"I've no idea."

She toyed with the hair on his chest thoughtfully.

"Mama was around my age when she lost the baby. Perhaps it runs in the family."

"To be honest, love, I don't really care. I'm just glad we are."

She was silent for a moment, happy to feel the warmth of his body next to hers.

"Mary's banished Matthew to his dressing room."

Unexpectedly, Tom sighed.

"I thought she might have done."

She looked up, surprised.

"How did you know ?"

"Last time we were at Downton he said something about us still sharing a bedroom. It implied he and Mary didn't."

"She still loves him," she said earnestly, "but she says she just doesn't want to be bothered with it any more."

"Bothered ?"

Sybil shrugged.

"It's not the word I would use,"

"Glad to hear it," he said.

She nestled closer again, revelling in the feeling of his body next to hers. On the whole, the years had been gentle with him. His hair was now a peppery grey at the front and sides, but his face was little changed - a little rounder perhaps, with a few more lines here and there, but not enough to stop her recognising the young man she had run away with. He frowned more these days and laughed a little less, but his mouth was still kind when he smiled. Age and a more sedentary lifestyle had made his muscles softer, so what had been sturdiness in his youth was now solidity, but Sybil loved this. It made him feel comfortable. She would far rather allow herself to rest against the bulk of Tom's chest than Matthew's small paunch. Perhaps that was the difference between herself and sister - Mary no longer found her husband desirable.

Thoughts of one sister lead inevitably to thoughts of the other and the reason that they were here in Eaton Square in the first place.

"I'm glad Edith is finally getting married," she said, tracing her fingers lightly up his arm, brushing the hairs the wrong way and sending a small, pleasant frisson along his skin. Tom grunted.

"I'm surprised they're bothering. Your sister says Edith and Michael have been society's worst kept secret for the last fifteen years."

Sybil looked up at him, her eyes a little sad.

"I don't think its about other people. I think he's always wanted her to be his wife, and now she can be. She gave up a lot to stay with him. She could have found someone else to give her a family…."

"Do you think its what she wants ?"

"Oh definitely," said Sybil, laying her head on his chest again. They lay quietly for a few moments, unconsciously matching the rhythm of their breathing.

"I wish Papa were here to see it," she said softly, the regret evident in her voice. "Mama will miss him tomorrow more than ever. We all will."

Robert had died suddenly in the Spring of 1932. Tom had been coming to the end of a trying day at work and was just thinking about going home when his telephone rang. It was Matthew. He knew immediately he heard his brother-in-law's voice that something was terribly wrong, but the news made him sit down abruptly. The hum from the newsroom became muted and his office dissolved around him as reality resolved itself to the end of his telephone receiver. He thought of Sybil, probably at home by now with the children, making dinner with Doris in the big kitchen that she loved. It was if she were in a parallel universe where life was going on as normal. And it would be up to him to drag her from that world into one of pain and loss. His mind revolted against the idea - but he had no option.

She'd known, of course, that something was wrong the minute he was through the door. She'd always said his heart was written all over his face. Even the girls sensed something was not right, willingly going upstairs when asked without a word as he lead Sybil into their sitting room. By now she was beginning to panic, mentally running through a list of possible disasters - Mama, Papa, Mary - oh God, not one of the boys, surely ? Edith ? - so when he told her it was her father she was bewildered and stared stupidly at him for several minutes until what he had just told her sunk in. She sat down on the sofa quietly, hands folded in her lap as if she were at Downton. He watched her, waiting for some sort of outburst, but it never came.

"I should telephone. Find out what the arrangements are."

"Darling, I can do that…"

She shook her head, smoothing her hands down her skirt, suddenly terrifyingly practical.

"No. I need to do it. Please, Tom…"

He heard her on the phone calming discussing funeral arrangements with her sister and asking after her mother and wondered where Mrs Branson had disappeared to. Lady Sybil played her part in the funeral arrangements admirably, being a support to her mother and to the new Countess. Mrs Branson didn't re-emerge until a few days after the funeral when he came home to find Sybil lying curled up on their bed, watching the small wooden couple in the middle of a small musical box revolve jerkily to the tinny music. The box was a gift from her father. When she looked up at him, he could see from her tear streaked face that she had been crying for some time. She collapsed gratefully into his arms and refused to let go of him, so they spent the evening curled up together on the bed whilst he stroked her hair and she talked. Much as her father loved her, she never felt she had his wholehearted blessing; now she never would. It was a loss she felt keenly.

Even now, almost six years later, there were times when Robert's loss was as raw as the day it happened. Edith's wedding tomorrow would be a bittersweet day for all concerned.

"What time is it ?" she asked after a while, not moving from her position on his chest. He reached out for the watch that he'd somehow remembered to take off as his eager wife was ridding him of his shirt.

"Nearly three o'clock."

"We should get up. Mama and Isobel will be bringing Michael back soon."

"Hmmmm."

Neither of them made any move, but she smiled, almost feeling his disapproving frown.

"They spoil him something rotten. He'll be terrible when we get back home."

Sybil turned to look at him, resting her chin on his chest.

"It must be terribly lonely for him, Tom. There aren't any other children for him to play with here."

"Given the amount of ice cream your mother feeds him, I don't think he minds. He's quite happy having everyone dote on him."

"He's three, darling. What do you expect ?"

Tom sighed.

"I'm too old to have a three year old son," he grumbled.

"Well, you should have thought of that before you got me pregnant again." she said archly, pulling the sheet up around her a little higher. He looked down at her and raised an eyebrow.

"I don't remember having a lot of say in the matter," he said. Sybil laughed. "But it is rather wonderful," he continued, "having a little one in the house again. Makes a nice change from the girls arguing. Where were they going, by the way ?"

"Aoife went with Matthew and the boys to the Science museum and Edith and Mary have taken Niamh to Selfridges."

"Didn't you want to go with them ?" he asked

She smiled wickedly at him, slowly making her way up his chest.

"Lord no," she said, "I had other plans."

"Sybil…"

A little while later she had returned to resting over his heart whilst he slowly ran his fingers up and down her spine. After carrying three children her body was a little fuller now, still slender but very definitely womanly. Her last pregnancy had taken more of a toll on her body, leaving her small stomach softer and a criss cross pattern of pale white lines on her hips. She hated them. He didn't even register they were there. He never grew tired of her body, whatever she thought of it herself, and he still considered that he had married the most desirable Crawley sister. His hand trailed lower to her naked backside, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

"I thought you said we should get up."

Sybil sighed.

"I suppose we should. It wouldn't do to be discovered in bed when everyone thinks you've taken me out to lunch."

She sat up, keeping the sheet tightly under her arms and swung her legs over the bed. She stretched, then walked stark naked into the bathroom. He watched her go, enjoying the view of her long slender legs moving across the carpet.

"I'm going to have a shower. I won't be long."

She was as good as her word and a no more than ten minutes later she emerged surrounded by steam, wrapped in one of the rich white towels that Mary favoured. By the time he emerged from his own shower, she was back in her pale silk underwear and was rolling up her stockings.

As he got dressed, she sat at the dressing table and started to bring some order to her unruly hair. She caught his eye in the mirror and gave him a rather self satisfied smile.

"I feel as if I am a character in one of those french novels."

"What do you mean ?"

"You know, where the heroine has an afternoon assignation with her lover in a little hotel and then has to go home to her very dull husband."

Tom looked up.

"Are you trying to tell me I'm dull ?' he asked, pretending to look hurt.

"Of course not ! You're not the dull husband, silly."

"Oh, so that's your _other_ husband, is it, Mrs Branson ?"

She grinned broadly, something that made her look suddenly very young.

"No - I mean I have the good fortune to be married to my lover. Which means I can have assignations like this and not feel guilty about it. No awkward conversations about where I've been all afternoon."

Her words brought him up short, his hand hovering over his tie. Sybil apparently didn't think she had said anything remarkable and had returned to refreshing her scent. He appeared behind her in the mirror and dropped a kiss on her head.

"No - you save those for your mother," he said into her hair.

Sybil snorted, but her riposte was cut short by the sound of feet hurrying along the corridor and a pair of girlish voices. They both instinctively looked towards the door.

"Aoife ! Mummy's probably not there - Granny said that Daddy took her to lunch !"

"Well I'm still going to look !"

"It's only a scarf !"

"It's _my _scarf and you _stole_ it !"

Sybil and Tom looked at each other in alarm as the voices got louder.

"Or our children…" she muttered.

She quickly stepped into her dress and turned her back to him so he could do it up.

"I did not steal it ! I borrowed it !"

"Mummy ! Niamh took my scarf !" The door rattled on its hinges as someone tried to turn the door handle with a certain amount of gusto.

"Hurry up, Tom !"

She held up her hair as he did up the zipper, carefully trying not to catch the strays wisps at the base of her neck. "I'm just coming, darling," she called to her daughter. "What's the matter ?"

"Why is the door locked ?"

"I was taking a shower," she said, glancing back at Tom as she moved to open the door. It wasn't a complete lie. She was greeted by two young women, one of whom was fuming and the other leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed, clearly unimpressed at the fuss her sister was making.

"Niamh stole my blue scarf to wear to Selfridge's !"

"Honestly, Aoife, you do exaggerate. I didn't _steal_ it, I _borrowed_ it ! You've got it back, haven't you ?'

"That's not the point ! You should have asked !"

"You're just making a fuss about nothing ! It's a scarf ! Mum, she's just being unreasonable. Again."

"Did you ask if you could borrow it ?"

"She'd already gone out. And anyway, she said I could borrow it at Christmas."

"For Mass on Boxing Day ! Why did you have to take mine, anyway ! You've got hundreds of scarfs !"

"Aiofe …" began Sybil.

"Not a blue one, I haven't. And I haven't got hundreds ! And you weren't wearing it so what's the problem !"

"You won't lend me your lipstick !"

"That's because Daddy says you're not allowed to wear it ! You're only fifteen !"

"Alright that's enough !" she said, finally raising her voice. Her daughters looked at her sullenly, Niamh collapsing against the wall in disgust. "Niamh, you should have asked. You don't like it when Aiofe borrows your things."

"But…"

"But nothing. And that doesn't mean you can look so smug," she turned to Aoife. "Honestly, you're not children any more. You're young women. You should be able to sort these sorts of things out by yourselves like reasonable people. Now go and get ready for tea."

The sisters scowled at each other, but realising their mother was not going to encourage their feud, they slunk off back towards their separate bedrooms. Sybil closed the door and sunk back against it, sighing with relief.

"I thought they would have got over fighting with each other by now."

"Like your sisters, you mean ?" he asked, grinning.

Her forehead wrinkled. "Goodness, I hope not. They did real damage to each other when they were younger."

He silently moved to gather her up in his arms, holding her close.

"But they're not Mary and Edith," he reminded her. "They're Bransons. They stick together when it matters. Look at the way they gang up on George."

He felt her smile into his shoulder.

"Poor George," she said, looking up at him.

"Ah, come on, love. He asks for it. I didn't think it was possible for a boy to be so pompous."

'He's not a boy any more," she said a little sadly. "Not really. They're all growing up so fast….they'll be gone in a few years."

He reached up to stroke her face, noting the hidden hint of apprehension in her eyes.

"They'll never be gone for good. And you'll still be their mother, wherever they are, the same way your Mama was still there even when we were in Ireland," he said softly, "and, of course, we still have Michael. He's not going anywhere for a good few years yet."

He was rewarded by a wide smile as she thought of her little boy.

"Mama must be back if Niamh saw her," she said. "We should go up to the nursery before tea and make sure she's not completely spoilt him."

When Mary had become Countess of Grantham, the now Dowager Countess plunged herself into decorating the Dower House, which had been vacant for several years. Three months after her husband's death, Cora moved, despite Mary and Matthew's protests that it was too soon and she could stay at Downton as long as she wanted. What she couldn't tell them was that it was two months too late for her. She had only ever lived at Downton with Robert and she had no desire to do so without him. Every stone and every splinter of the place remembered him; she wandered from room to room, desperately trying to catch the spirit that had vanished moments before she entered, leaving only the sense of the air rearranging itself to fill the void. He was tantalisingly out of sight, in the next room or on the other side of the door, his words having just rippled away like the furthest rings from a casually tossed stone. She was never quick enough; only his absence and occasionally his smell lingered. It was driving her slowly mad. The dower house was a haven. Simply furnished with a minimal staff, she could face coming to terms with a life in England without the reason she first came here.

It also left Mary free to be chatelaine of Downton. Mary swore she did not want to change anything, but Cora knew her better. By the year's end, she had embarked on making Downton her own, not just in furnishings and decor, but in custom and habit. In the end, she was ruthless. Downton was decluttered. Much from her grandmother's time was sold off; hard victorian furniture was replaced with welcoming sofas and comfortable chairs. The boys were allowed in the dining room and the library; only the drawing room remained the preserve of adults.

Grantham House had been sold off to pay Robert's death duties, so on the rare times they were in London they stayed in Eaton Square, Rosamund having married an elderly Russian prince who had whisked her away to the Riviera. Thus when the family met for dinner that evening, the atmosphere in the dining room was far more intimate than even Robert would recognise. Even the younger children were allowed to eat with their parents - the only person missing was Sybil's son, being already in bed.

"Is everything ready for tomorrow, Edith ?" her mother asked her.

"There wasn't that much to do in the end. It's only family and a few friends from the Sketch coming. Not a lot to organise, really."

"You seem very relaxed about it," Cora smiled.

"Well, I'm hardly a blushing bride, Mama," Edith gave her mother a wry smile.

"Even so," Cora refused to be deflated. "It's your wedding day."

"Just about twenty years too late."

There was an uncomfortable silence, the only sound that of silver on china and the clear ring of crystal glasses being picked up. Sybil watched Aoife digest this comment, hoping that it did not presage one of her more inappropriate questions. Thankfully, she remembered her manners and remained silent.

Isobel smiled indulgently at her grandsons, asking them about their afternoon with their father at the museum. Peter began an enthusiastic description of what they had seen in the flight gallery .

"Aoife was telling us about Amy Johnson's Gypsy Moth" he said.

"At great length," said his brother under his breath, "you were very boring, Fa." It earned him a dramatic eye-roll from Aoife and a disapproving look from his mother.

"A brave and remarkable woman," said Isobel soberly. "As was with Miss Earhart. It was such a tragedy that she was lost last year. Are you interested in aeroplanes, Aoife ?"

Aoife nodded.

"I hope you're not going to disappear up into the clouds and try and fly to the other end of the earth," said Cora, smiling indulgently at her.

"Oh no, Granny. I want to be an engineer and design them."

Cora's eyes widened a little, but it was evident that Aoife had said this in perfect seriousness. She glanced at Sybil, only to find her unperturbed by this information.

"Gracious, darling, that's a very…_unusual_ choice of career for a girl"

Aoife looked at her grandmother, puzzled.

"Why ?"

Cora opened her mouth to respond, but caught Sybil and Tom exchanging an amused look. Matthew too, smiled and nodded in agreement with his niece.

"Why indeed, Cora ? I should think Aoife would make a very good aircraft designer. She's always working out how our farm machinery works."

"Can a woman become an engineer ?" asked Mary.

Aoife nodded.

"I want to go and study in Manchester."

"If you keep up with your mathematics," said Sybil with a significant nod.

"And what about you, Niamh," asked Edith, "do you still want to be a doctor ?"

Niamh smiled shyly and nodded.

"Yes, Aunt Edith. I'll be applying next year."

Cora shook her head.

"A doctor and an engineer. What would your grandfather have made of that ? Not to mention Granny Violet !"

"Well, I think its splendid Fa's going to be an engineer," said Peter.

"What are you going to do, Peter ?" asked Sybil, smiling at her nephew.

"I think I'd like to be a vet. Mr Roberts let me help sometimes when he's here."

"And how about you, George ?" asked Tom.

His nephew looked down at his dinner sullenly.

"Everyone knows what I'm going to do. I'm going to run the estate. I don't have a choice."

Matthew rolled his eyes.

"George, we've been through this before. Hopefully it will be a long time before you have to run the estate, so your mother and I have told you that you can study whatever you want. It would just help if were something relevant."

George pushed his food around his plate with his fork, his mouth firmly closed in resentment.

"You want me to study law, like you did, then help you manage Downton."

Matthew rubbed his forehead in frustration.

"And if that is not what you want to do, then fine. You just don't seem to have any idea what you _do_ want to do."

Peter watched his brother from across the table, clearly worried that George was about to incur the sharp edge of his father's tongue.

George still hadn't looked up.

"Doesn't matter," he mumbled.

"Well, you don't have to decide yet, darling," said Mary, "there's plenty of time." She shot her husband an irritated look, which Matthew returned.

Barrow wisely decided that this would be an opportune moment to clear, effectively bringing dinner to an end. Matthew and Tom had never upheld the tradition of mulling over the port, preferring instead to accompany their wives back into the drawing room. The young people disappeared to the billiard room, which had become their regular after dinner haunt. It was their custom for Niamh to challenge George to a game of billiards which he frequently lost.

Back in the drawing room, their parents were again discussing tomorrow's wedding.

"Did you find what you wanted in Selfridge's ?" asked Cora.

Mary nodded.

"Yes, we did. They really were most helpful. They'll deliver to Edith's flat whilst they're on honeymoon."

Edith blushed a little.

"It's really very kind of you and Matthew - we don't really need a new dinner service."

"Nonsense. You're always entertaining. Now you have something of your own, rather than using another woman's china."

"Did you take Niamh to lunch there ?" asked Sybil.

"We did. Although it was almost ruined by running into that terrible Diana Mitford. She invited us to lunch, darling," Mary said, looking at Matthew. "I told her you were very busy."

"Thank God," he said. "I absolutely refuse to sit down at the same table as Oswald Moseley. "

"I should hope so," said his brother-in-law with feeling.

"I didn't even realise you knew her," said Matthew.

"I don't, really" she replied, "but she was with Celia Carrington, who I came out with."

"Didn't Celia get married again a few years ago ?" asked Cora.

Mary nodded.

"She's now the Right Honorable Mrs Larry Grey."

* * *

_ Historical A/N: This story is set in early 1938. It's sort of complimentary to my other story, Behind Closed Doors, as it really shows where that one is going (although at my current rate of progress we won't get to 1938 for about 5 years !). In 1937, the Marital Causes Act admitted insanity as a reason for divorce - hence Michael Gregson would have been allowed to divorce his wife. Diana Mitford and Oswald Moseley were real people - Oswald Moseley was the leader of the British Union of Facists and Diana Mitford was one of the Mitford sisters and by 1938 had been Moseley's mistress for several years and had recently married him in secret. She too was a Nazi __sympathiser. Celia Carrington I made up :-) Next up: the final chapter !_


	10. Epilogue - Part 2

**A/N:** So here we are, finally at the end of this story - I must express my thanks to everyone who has read it and left feedback of one form or another - its been great hearing what you think. The epilogue is rather self-indulgent, and probably not what people were imagining, but its something I've wanted to write for a long time. If you're interested, I will be writing more about their life in Manchester in my other story, Behind Closed Doors (shameless plug there !). Anyway - I hope you enjoy this !

Part two follows right on from Part one, so if you've not read it, please think about doing so - I posted the first part when the alerts weren't working - also this part has been rather longer in coming than I thought.

* * *

"Larry's doing _what_ ?"

Sybil stared at her sister, horrified.

"He's standing as Oswald Moseley's candidate in the Poplar by election."

"Larry's mixed up with the Fascists ?"

"He's a bit more than "mixed up" with them. Moseley's even taken him over to Germany to visit Chancellor Hitler, apparently. He's one of their biggest financial donors," said Edith.

"Good God."

"His father must be spinning in his grave," said Cora. "He was such a decent man. I do feel for his poor mother, though. How awful."

"I can't believe it," said Sybil, still stunned by the news.

"I can," said her husband bluntly.

"Did you know ?" she asked.

"I knew he was sympathetic to Moseley, but I didn't know he was supporting them financially."

"Why didn't you tell me ?" she demanded.

Tom just shrugged. "It didn't seem important. We hadn't seen him since that benefit years ago when he got drunk."

"Oh yes," said Mary. "Where we had the jazz band from London."

A memory floated back unbidden into Sybil's mind, something she had not thought about for over ten years. She's been so disgusted with Larry that evening, she's not really paid much attention to his jibes at Jack's colour and Tom's Irishness. It had somehow seemed no more that she would have expected from Larry and she had dismissed it as him being his usual unpleasant self. But now in hindsight, it seemed more sinister.

Her recollections were interrupted by the door to the drawing room opening gingerly. Niamh appeared, followed by Aoife and the boys.

"We've just come to say goodnight," said Niamh as she walked over to drop a kiss on her father's cheek. The children bade goodnight to their various relatives, Peter being told by his father for the umpteenth time that no, he couldn't try a cigar.

"I don't know why you want to," said Aoife pulling a face, "smoking tastes disgusting."

"And exactly when have you been smoking ?" asked Sybil.

Aoife's mouth dropped open a little, realising that in her haste to crow at her cousin, she had forgotten that absolutely nothing got past her mother.

"She's tried cigarettes in the old garage at Downton," said George, ever eager to get his cousins into trouble with their parents.

"Only because you gave them to her," Niamh leapt to her sister's defence. "You encouraged her !"

"She didn't need any encouragement !"

"Wait a minute," said Mary, "George - have you been _smoking_ in the garage ? How long has this been going on ?"

George shot his cousin a disgusted look and looked mutinously at his mother.

"Everyone does it at school nowadays. It's nothing."

"It most certainly is something," said Mary. "Your father will talk to you about it tomorrow morning." She looked pointedly at Matthew, who raised his eyes in resignation. Clearly, they had been here before.

"Oh, honestly Mama, I'm not a child anymore…."

"Go to bed, George."

"Papa !"

"Do as your mother says," Matthew echoed sternly, " and we _will_ have a discussion about this tomorrow."

An uncomfortable silence settled on the room, broken only when Niamh announced they should go too and shepherded the younger children upstairs. No-one commented on George's behaviour, not wanting to add to the discomfort of his parents. It was not the first such scene they had witnessed.

"Niamh's turning into a real beauty," said Cora, changing the subject with a little forced cheeriness. "Are there any young men on the horizon ?"

Sybil rolled her eyes, thinking of the number of times she had found a stray teenaged boy drinking tea in her kitchen after offering to walk Niamh home from school.

"Goodness, there's a whole flock," she smiled, "and she isn't interested in any of them. She's far too caught up with getting into medical school. She did go to the pictures with one of them once. I thought Tom was going to have apoplexy when he found out."

"She didn't ask his permission ?"

At this, Sybil laughed out loud.

"Oh goodness, no. She _informed _us she was going ten minutes before he turned up on the doorstep. Tom was so taken aback all he could do was to insist she was back before nine o'clock."

Cora looked at her daughter with a mixture of shock and bewilderment. The idea that a young woman would not even bother defying her parents, but simply _ignore _them was beyond her comprehension, as was Sybil's finding it amusing.

"I don't see how you can find that funny, darling," she said. "What would people say if they knew she'd gone out unchaperoned ?"

Sybil shook her head.

"It doesn't really matter, Mama. She's not interested in making a good match, or getting married. She wants to be a doctor and that will take all her time and energy for the next five or six years."

"But surely she wants to get married at some point ?"

"I'm sure she does - but she will find her own husband. Someone who understands her," she said, unconsciously looking over at Tom, deep in discussion with Matthew.

Cora sighed.

"Things have changed so much since I was a girl," she said. "Sometimes I think I hardly recognise the world we live in."

"Would you want to go back to the way things were then ?" asked Edith.

"Oh, I don't think so," said Cora briskly. "Life is so much more exciting now, don't you think ? "

* * *

Before long the adults followed their children up the staircase to bed. Back in their room, Sybil noticed that the bedclothes had been turned down and her hasty efforts at remaking the bed had been straightened out by a more professional hand. She blushed a little, wondering what stories were currently circulating around the table in the servants' hall. She and Tom prepared for bed in a comfortable silence, weaving around each other as they undressed. She carefully hung up her dress and automatically retrieved his trousers and jacket from where he'd flung them whilst he pulled on his comfortable old white undershirt. Early in their marriage, her parents had presented him with a pair of silk pyjamas every Christmas, much to his embarrassment. He had considered them unmanly and flatly refused to wear them, so they accumulated year after year in the bottom drawer of their wardrobe. Eventually, Cora gave up. Sybil finally dug them out when she was pregnant with Michael and wore them herself, finding them a comfortable alternative to her voluminous maternity nightdress. She didn't want Tom to wear them - she loved the rough softness of the wool undershirt when she lay with her cheek on his chest. It was an extension of him; feeling silk under her skin would have felt wrong. It was not who her husband was.

As usual, he was in bed before she was, his glasses on and his nose is his book. But tonight she could tell without having to think about it that he wasn't reading. He hadn't turned a page in the five minutes it had taken her to brush her hair and put Pond's cold creme on her face. He looked up as she walked to her side of the bed, moving the bedclothes for her and putting his book on the bedside table. It was a sure sign he had something on his mind and wanted to talk to his wife.

"What were you and Matthew talking about ?' she asked, wondering if that was it.

"Oh, nothing much," he gave her a fleeting smile, "he was asking my opinion of what Dublin was likely to do in the trade talks. He's been in Westminster this week."

"Matthew's far more diligent than Papa ever was," she said, shuffling under the blankets, "he's got a better grasp of politics, anyway."

"I think he enjoys it. He's a still a lawyer at heart," he smiled.

"I suppose so," she said. She turned out her light and rolled over to face him. He hadn't moved.

"What is it, Tom ?"

He didn't even bother denying that something was troubling him.

"I ran into Teddy Considine the other day."

"From the Irish Times ?"

Tom nodded.

"He's over here covering the trade talks, but he's just come back from Germany. He says its inevitable that they will annexe Austria."

She tucked one hand under her chin, waiting for him to continue.

"There's going to be another war, Sybil. Not in the next few months, maybe, but soon.'

He turned to her then, sliding down underneath the covers to come face to face with her.

"It won't be like the last one. You know what's been happening in Spain. It won't just be on the battlefields. It'll come into people's homes."

"Not here, surely ?"

He nodded.

"If Britain gets dragged into it, which it will, they'll be bombs falling in London. And Manchester."

He watched as her eyes grew wide and dark with fear.

"I've been thinking," he continued, "and if it does happen, you and the children should go home."

She gave a small, involuntary frown at first as she missed his meaning. It took her a minute to realise he was talking about Dublin.

"What about you ?"

"I'll stay here."

"No. We're not going anywhere without you."

"Sybil - Ireland will remain neutral. You'll be safer there,"

"So will you."

"I can't leave. It would be running away."

"And what would we be doing ?" she asked sharply.

"That's different."

"Why is it different ?" she said, hoisting herself up on one elbow to look down on him. "What about our neighbours in Manchester and all the other families in this country ? _My _family ? They don't have anywhere else to go !"

"If war breaks out, Matthew will talk to your mother about going back to America."

"And has he consulted Mama about this ?" she scoffed, "because I very much doubt she will go. She will see it as her duty to stay here."

"Please, Sybil, I just want you and our kids to be safe."

"And they will want you to be safe. I'm not leaving without you. You stay, we all stay."

"Sweetheart…."

"The girls won't want to go anyway. Niamh's already got her heart set on a London hospital….."

"There are medical schools in Dublin."

"She doesn't want to go to Dublin. Their lives are here, Tom, all their friends….."

"If there's a war, that life won't be there anymore"

"She's almost an adult, Tom. We wouldn't be able to stop her."

"Maybe not," he said, "but what about Michael and Aoife ? They're both young enough to adjust. And I rather like the idea of at least one of my children sounding like me, " he tried to placate her by smiling.

"What's the use of him sounding like you if you're not there to hear it ? He needs his father, Tom. They all do."

"If there's a war, I'll be needed here. People will need to know what is going on."

"_You'll_ be needed ? " she suddenly raged, "I'm a nurse. Don't you think they'll need nurses if there's a war ? They'll need me more that they'll bloody well need you !" She turned over on her back abruptly and stared at the ceiling.

"And if the very worst does happen and they come here, and the likes of Larry Grey take over, you won't even have a job. Given what you've put into print about the Fascists, the first thing they'll do is put you up against a wall and shoot you. _Then _how much good are you going to do ?"

He voice caught a little and she angrily wiped away a tear that had escaped, despite her best efforts.

He reached up to turn her face back to his, going to brush her face with the backs of his fingers, but she took his hand in hers and held it tight.

"A long time ago, you told me that sometimes a hard sacrifice must be made for a future that's worth having. Your team have all seen war in Spain. They are all younger than you and none of them are married, let alone have any children. You fought for Ireland from England, surely can fight for England from Ireland ? We won't be separated from you, Tom. Not if there's a war. If you want us to go then you'll have to come with us."

He sighed, recognising his own words and understanding the choice she laid out before him. She was right. He was not indispensable to the paper. But he was to his family. His conscience still muttered that he would be running away, but that was the sacrifice she was asking of him. He'd once asked her to give up her whole world. And she had done so without once looking back.

"Has it been ?" he asked her softly, "worth having ?"

"Of course it has," she answered without hesitation. "Every minute of it. Being your wife has been the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Every waking minute?" he laughed gently, reminding her of a time even further back.

"Every waking minute," she affirmed, her face serious in agreement.

He pulled her close to him and rolled on his back so that she could rest with her head on his chest.

"I won't leave England without you," she said without looking up. "If we go to Ireland, we go together, as a family."

He was silent for a few minutes, then bent and kissed the top of her head.

"We don't need to decide just yet."

She tightened her grip on him.

"I mean it, Tom."

"I know you do," he conceded. "Alright," he sighed, "if it becomes necessary and that's what it takes….."

He felt her grip relax a little and he reached over with his free hand to switch his light off. They fell into a comfortable silence in the near darkness, with only the ever-present street light outlining the curtains at the window and slipping towards the end of the bed at an odd angle.

As she lay in bed, Sybil thought how Edith's wedding tomorrow would put the final full stop to the story of the Crawley Girls. It was as if Edith giving up her name would consign the final traces of their pre-war selves to memory and they would only exist as Mrs Branson, Mrs Gregson and the Countess of Grantham. Sybil found she hardly ever thought of the Great War. When it was over, her life had become a series of firsts; her first time as wife and a lover, her first real job, her first child and her first experiences as a mother. From then on there was always something new to look forward too - Tom's next assignment, their second child, their next home, the children's school. There was simply no time to look back. She'd reached the age of forty without even realising it. Every waking minute…suddenly she could remember being that girl in the archway at York so vividly. She could even conjure up the smell; damp stone, a pungent, earthy smell that made her think of church services in winter. Tom had been so earnest and she had panicked. She hadn't meant to hurt him, but she knew immediately she had said the wrong thing and had gauchely tried to cover it up, but had only made it worse. Her panic had got he better of her when he said he was leaving and she had spoken without thinking, but that had been the right thing to do. I should have learnt that lesson earlier, she thought to herself as she lay in his arms. An even earlier memory emerged - an August day when she was a girl fancying herself a woman and her hand unaccountably in his, his grip strong and sure, even then. He'd been going to ask her something, and she realised that to this day she'd never asked him what it was.

"Tom," she whispered, in case he was asleep.

"Hmmmm" he grunted sleepily back at her.

She turned over and leant on his chest, lifting up her head so she could see his face.

"What were you going to say to me, that day war broke out ?"

"What ?" he frowned at her, his brain foggy with drowsiness.

"When you took my hand. You said "I don't suppose…" and then Mrs Hughes interrupted us."

Tom looked at his wife as if she had lost her mind.

"Darling, that was nearly twenty-five years ago. I can't remember."

"Well, you were going to say something," she said, a little annoyed at his dismissive tone.

"I don't think it was anything very important," he said. "I was probably going to say the first thing that came into my head to stop you leaving."

She considered this and rejected it as not good enough.

"It sounded like you were going to ask me to do something."

"I was probably going to ask you if you wanted to go for a walk"

"Hmpfh. I can't believe you don't remember."

She felt him roll his eyes in the dark.

"Sybil, love, can we please just go to sleep ?."

But she was too put out to sleep. After a while she felt the rise of his chest become deeper and more regular as the sound of his breath settled into a familiar pattern. Alone, she let her mind open up to the prospect of another war and felt a coldness settle deep within her. The last war had stayed on the continent; young men went to it and came back as strangers, eternally separated from those who had not shared the experience. But she and her family had been safe, a curse as well as a blessing when that safety could not encompass everyone she loved. As Tom had said, this war would come to them; it would invade their homes and their lives in real and material ways that the Great War did not. If it happened, she vowed she would not sit on the sidelines whilst her husband and maybe even her daughters lived through it without her, separating them more completely than the Irish Sea ever could. She held Tom tighter, making him grunt in his sleep and shift his position. She suddenly felt very small in this large, unfamiliar bedroom. She fancied she could feel the earth turning inexorably beneath her and she wished them back in their familiar room in Manchester, or even back in the tiny bedroom of their Dublin flat, where they had shut out the world and its opinions and created one of their own.

But the world would move on regardless, and this time not for the better. She found his hand and slipped hers into it, thinking again of the girl in the sprigged cotton dress at the garden party. The war had changed everything for that girl; now, for possibly the first time in her life, Sybil found herself afraid of the changes that were coming. She and Tom had fought the world to be together and for the life they wanted and she was not going to let the world rip their life apart any more than she could help it. One thing she was certain of - whether in Ireland or England, they would face whatever happened together. The one thing that never changed was the feeling of his hand in hers. And it never would.


End file.
